What If
by TentativelyKate
Summary: OE, obviously. The case that could make them or break them ends up falling apart. The relationship they were meant to have isn't always picture perfect. And yet they're still here, and they're together. The best thing I've ever written, and my favorite.
1. Chain

disclaimer: I am not Dick Wolf, he is an ass. You can just tell because anyone whose name involves the words for a male part and a solitary woodland carnivore is trying to imply something. plus, he makes OE shippers scream angrily, so for that, I flame him.

but thanks for letting me borrow em dickie...

if you're not into OEness, just don't read this. it's going to get worse as the fluff rolls on.

-----

At one time, she had considered it. At one time, she had even hoped for it, considering it one of those long-time goals that you're supposed to secretly nurture while going about your daily basis. But now that sort of thing was out of the question; she had grown too used to her life, and a change like that could bend her or break her.

On days like these, she could only consider being broken in half. No, she wasn't a girl for relationships. So why was she suddenly thinking about them?

The alarm hadn't gone off. Her hair dryer was broken. Her coffee was cold. Little trifle things that would hardly matter to anyone else. But she had become so dependent on these things, simple things that had filled the gaps in her otherwise empty lifestyle, and when they were absent she always felt it.

It was going to be a horrible day.

For one thing, she was thinking about relationships. She had dreamt (oh christ, she had _dreamt)_ about dying alone. What the hell was that about? She never had dreams like that. She never even thought about the future, except for things like ramen or salad tonight, or the number of weeks until vacation. Yes, she definitely thought about being alone. When your relatives are either dead or non-existent, you will end up spending a number of days alone, especially holidays and important dates when the people you would otherwise be with have prior engagements.

Instead of coffee, she had a bottle of water, and she knew for a fact that Aquafina was not going to do the trick that morning. Her desk looked more like a pillow than a workspace, so the first thing she had done that day was fall asleep on it.

She woke up to a tap on her shoulder, the smell of hazelnut coffee, and Beatles' lyrics.

"Five more minutes, mom." she grumbled, covering her ears with lazy hands.

"I'm not your mother, and you can't have five more minutes." Fingers wrapped around her palms and gently pulled them from her ears. She lifted her head, and blinked into the light. She was glad to find a familiar face smiling at her, complete with a coffee in his outstretched hand. She took the coffee first, gulping down what she could until she came back up for air.

"I owe you again," She set down the coffee, smiling at the warmth now filling her insides. "Uh, is that music?"

"If you can call my singing music," Her partner gave her a small smile before singing again. "_Imagine all the people-"_

"That's enough Mr. Lennon, I'm awake." She gave him a sheepish grin. "Anyone else notice my nap?"

"Only our boss."

Her smile disappeared with a groan. "Is Cragen pissed?"

"I think he's still convinced you're an alcoholic insomniac." Elliot shrugged. "I never should have made an excuse for your tardiness."

"That was two months ago. What was he, an elephant in another life?"

"Judging from his angry faces, I would say a very grumpy baboon."

"Benson. Stabler." They looked over at the door where Cragen's head had appeared. They both winced when they saw his frown. "The very grumpy baboon needs you in his office."

"Very smooth," Olivia whispered to her partner as they entered the office, flopping into the uncomfortable chairs and trying not to laugh.

Six and a half hours later, she could not laugh. Packing her clothes was something she rarely did. Sometimes for vacation, when she bought herself a hotel room and visited the mountains for a weekend hike. Sometimes for when she had to move out for the weekend when her landlord did his repairs. And rarest of all, when she was going undercover.

Unfortunately, this was for the latter occasion.

Cragen had told them what he considered to be hopeful news: they were finally going to nab 'the big one.' A hotel upstate had been the site of five rapes in the past six months, and whenever police had run investigations, they had found absolutely nothing to connect the hotel or an individual to the rapes. It was obvious that whoever was behind it had covered their tracks after the media hype being thrown at the case, but now that the hotel had remained quiet for four months, they needed to send an undercover agent to the site to further investigate without putting pressure on the criminals involved. Or two agents.

"If they found nothing and abandoned the case, why are we going back in?" Elliot had asked Cragen, only to be handed a photo of an attractive blonde's bruised corpse.

"Tara Johnson. 32, mother of a five year old daughter from her previous marriage, and on her honeymoon. Just like all the others who suffered the same fate."

"They were all over 30?" Olivia asked, taking the picture from Elliot's hands. A good-looking girl was an obvious target for rape, but the coincidence was a bit puzzling.

"They were all on their honeymoons." Cragen said, pulling out another file. "This makes six new brides, all honeymooning at the Greenridge Resort and Spa, all ending up raped and dead. Whoever did this covered their tracks, and they covered them well when the police started making a big deal about the case. We weren't involved until Tara came into the picture. We've remained quiet about it. In fact, the employees we've spoken to have no idea that we're onto the case, and the only people who know about Tara are her husband and the squad."

"No one at the hotel saw her body?" Olivia asked, raising an eyebrow.

"We suspected someone inside the hotel, so the investigations were never done at the site or in an obvious manner. No one saw her body leave the room with the exception of the ambulance drivers and the husband that found her."

"And he didn't make a big deal about finding her? He didn't run downstairs screaming for help or anything like that?"

"He was in complete shock. He dialed 911 on his cell phone, and when the technicians came he was wrapped around his wife's body in complete mental shock. He was admitted to the hospital for three days as a mental trauma patient."

"Has anyone talked to him?"

"Fin and Munch spoke to him at his house in Brooklyn last night, but they couldn't get much out of him."

"And what did they get?"

Cragen pulled out a sheet from the file. "He noticed absolutely nothing before the murder. On the third day of their vacation, they were getting ready to go out for dinner. He was taking a shower and she was in the bedroom. They were staying in the honeymoon suite, so there are three separate rooms: the bathroom, the lounge and kitchen, and the bedroom. When he came out, her found her on the bed, bloody from the waist down and smothered with a pillow."

"He couldn't hear her screams? Even with a pillow over her face, she had to have struggled." Elliot said, reviewing the contents of the file.

"It's doubtful she made any noise. They found traces of multiple drugs in her system."

"She was high?"

"She was asleep. They were all sleeping medications taken in extreme dosages. She was knocked out by the time he got to her, and with enough of the medication in her system, she would have been dead in a few hours anyway, regardless of the pillow."

"So the perp drugged her before he raped her, or the overdose was self-inflicted."

"Sounds like she was having a bad honeymoon," Olivia said, staring at the bruised face of Tara Johnson.

"Not as bad as her husband. Now he has to live with the fact that the greatest nights of his life ended up taking the life of his wife." Cragen took the file from Olivia's hands. "That's why we need you two to take the case undercover. The suspect preys on wives in couples who are on their second marriage, mostly with children, and all honeymooning at the Greenridge Resort. We've kept it quiet enough to put you two in without arousing any suspicions. While you're there, you'll need to find out what's going on and who's doing it. Tara was not the first, and she certainly will not be the last."

"So you're essentially setting us up for bait." Elliot frowned, folding his arms across his chest. "And since we're expected to be innocent, we probably won't be well-prepared for attack."

"You'll have back-up and you'll be well-armed, don't worry." Cragen said, drumming his fingers on the desk. "Olivia will just have to watch what she eats and drinks."

Olivia rolled her eyes. "That's reassuring."

"Go in there, find the perp, get out." Cragen was beginning to look angered. "When have I ever asked anything differently of you?"

"We'll do it, don't worry." Elliot said, nodding slowly, though not without restraint.

"Good, because you're leaving tonight." Cragen shot back, causing both of them to do double-takes.

Olivia had no idea what to pack. The provided clothes were extremely expensive and very uncomfortable looking. Apparently, her alter-ego was doing pretty well and able to afford pointless clothing. She wasn't completely sure she wasn't going to add her own clothes to the luggage, just for the sake of something comfortable to wear.

The buzzer for her room rang, and she pressed the button beside the door.

"Yes?"

"This is Daniel Tracy."

Olivia bit her lip. She'd never heard of that name before.

"I'm sorry, but I don't know a Daniel Tracy."

"Then you obviously didn't do your paperwork, Mrs. Tracy."

She groaned. Elliot. She hadn't looked at her file yet, true, but this wardrobe thing was occupying too much of her time at the moment.

"You're early." She snapped, and unlocked the door. When she returned to her bedroom, she frowned. "To hell with it," she said, and shoved all of her clothes into her luggage, clearing out most of her bathroom as well.

She heard the knock on her door and pulled on a sweatshirt, opening it up to find Elliot well-dressed before her.

"Lauren Tracy, you look mighty fine this evening," he said with a Texas twang.

"Good god, we're not from the south are we?" she asked, looking horrified. That was one thing she knew she could not keep up for long.

"Try Ohio," Elliot said, stepping inside as she shut the door behind him. He glanced at her sweatshirt. "You're the successful owner of a jewelry chain. Are you really going to show up to the spa in your sweats?"

"I could have changed on the highway," she snapped at him, pulling out her three suitcases. "Can we fit this in the car?"

"It's an Escalade; we can bring the bed if you want." He raised an eyebrow at her suitcases. "Unless of course you already disassembled it and brought it with you."

"I had no idea what to wear, alright? The clothing Cragen brought over didn't look very user-friendly, so I packed some of mine as well." They exited her room, and she locked the door behind her before heading down the stairs. A random thought hit her. "There are pictures of our marriage, right?"

"Yes, photo manipulation is not just for cheap porn anymore."

"Do I look good?" She asked, grinning lopsidedly at him.

"You look great," he said, smiling sincerely. She wondered how truthful he was being.

"Anything else important I should know before I get in the car?"

"You have a nine year old son."

"Yeah, that's a biggie." She pushed the suitcases into the back of the car, raising an eyebrow at the interior. Lauren and Daniel Tracy were _definitely_ doing well. "What's his name?"

"Taylor Nelson. He lives with his father on the weekends, and right now he's at your parents' house."

"I would not have named my son Taylor."

"Neither would I."

They got into the front seats, Elliot immediately electing to drive.

"What does Taylor look like?" she asked, staring over at her partner. It was odd, thinking about what a child of theirs would look like. But then again, Taylor had a different father and would only look like her.

But still…

"Dark brown hair, brown eyes, freckles." Elliot nodded at the file on the dashboard. "Just read your papers already."

She pulled out the file, three photos falling into her lap immediately. One was of herself and the boy named Taylor, both of them smiling.

"That's me at last year's holiday party, right? I recognize those earrings; I think I lost them when I puked the next morning." She grinned to herself. _Good thing I wasn't drunk at the time of the picture, or little Taylor might not look so happy. _Her eyes had fallen on the boy next to her, smiling widely and proudly holding up a drawing of a dog. "He's awfully cute, isn't he?"

"Yeah, you popped out a nice one after all."

"That's rather crude of you." She said as they turned onto the freeway. "I think you're just jealous."

"All parents think their children are perfect."

"Well, _I'm_ not a parent," she said, but she could not think of anything else to say to that. She had just basically shown parental instinct. _Oh god, another sign I'm going to end up an aging cat lady._

Olivia looked at the next picture. She was wearing a black dress, sitting at a candlelit dinner and leaning close to Elliot, who was kissing her forehead.

"How did they do that one?" She asked, pointing to the picture in her hands.

"There's a picture of me kissing Kathy like that." Elliot said quietly, his eyes never moving from the road. He must have known exactly what picture she was talking about.

"Oh," she said, flipping through to find the next one. It was a wedding photograph. "My dress is gorgeous," she said, smiling at their beaming faces. "You cleaned up nicely in your tux too, Mr. Tracy."

"Yeah." He looked down at the photo, and a small smile touched his lips. "We look pretty happy together, huh?"

She stared at the photo, not saying anything. She couldn't think of anything intelligent-sounding to say, actually.

"You make more than me." Elliot said, finally breaking the silence. "I'm just a corporate admissions officer."

"What is that?"

"More official word jumbling."

"So the victims all made more than their husbands?"

"Either that or Cragen is just playing a cruel joke on me."

"I can't believe the old bastard is setting us up like this."

"What?" Elliot turned to her, his eyes widening. He looked as though she had just stumbled on him naked.

"I just meant setting us up as potential victims." She raised an eyebrow. "What did you think I was talking about?"

"I just thought…well…never mind." He mumbled, his eyes back on the taillights ahead of them. "There's a rest stop in a few miles. Do you need to use the bathroom?"

"What I need is a Cinnabon," she said, grinning. "Or a frozen yogurt. I sort of skipped dinner."

"We have to check in by six, you know."

"How long does it take to order a Cinnabon?"

"Long enough. We can eat at the hotel."

"What, so they can drug me? Let me at least have one meal before I start taking risks."

He let out a long sigh. "How hungry are you?"

"Did you hear anything I said about skipping dinner?"

He nodded towards the back seat. "There's food back there. I brought something along in case you wanted to eat. I knew we wouldn't have a lot of time."

"Bless you for always being prepared," she said, grinning at him before pulling a bagel from the bag on the seat behind her.

Two hours and many miles later, they pulled into the Greenridge Resort and Spa, a large colonial-style manor with sprawling buildings, oak trees, and a beautiful view of the Adirondacks.

"That's not too shabby." Elliot said, waking her up. "I can see why business hasn't dropped. The place is gorgeous."

"Great, I'm glad I can spend my last hours here." Olivia said sarcastically, rolling her eyes as they stopped in the circular driveway, complete with a spiraling fountain in its center and a rose garden. "Ambience can make all the difference in rape."

"You're not going to get raped," he whispered, squeezing her hand for a moment. She stared at him, confused, but he got out of the car before she could say anything. "Don't forget," he said, poking his head back in. "You're happily married to me now."

"Right," she said, and smiled back.

When she got out of the car, he took her hand, awkward as it seemed, and they walked in together. The lobby was spacious and exquisitely decorated, with a roaring fire in the hearth, portraits of men in powdered wigs, and a plate of sweet-smelling cookies at the main desk. Olivia couldn't help but take one.

"They're delicious," she said, handing the plate to Elliot.

"And maybe they're for the employees." He frowned, putting it back on the desk. "Really, we ought to ask."

"It's alright." An older woman had appeared at the door behind the desk, smiling warmly and pushing a strand of short golden hair behind her ear. "The cookies are complimentary from our kitchens, and especially for our guests."

"I'm afraid my stomach got the best of me." Olivia said, shrugging sheepishly. "They taste wonderful."

"Well, you'd be surprised how many voracious appetites can be developed on honeymoons." The woman winked knowingly at her. Olivia and Elliot exchanged glances. "The number of children conceived on our property is unrivaled."

"Is that so?" Elliot put on a willing grin, laughing heartily. "Well, I'd hope Lauren could give me a little time before we have any kids." He wrapped his arm over Olivia's shoulder, hugging her. She tried as hard as she could not to blush. It wasn't that it was uncomfortable; in fact, she hadn't felt that good in ages, but it was a new feeling and definitely felt with resistance by her cold body.

"How did you know we were on our honeymoon?" Olivia asked, changing the subject.

"Your manner, I suppose." The woman said, "I have an eye for these things. I've worked here for 13 years and I can spot a couple from a mile away. You two are definitely very in love."

Olivia knew she wasn't the only one blushing at that comment. _Wow, she must suck at her job._

"I'm sure the new ring was a dead giveaway. My wife's in jewelry- didn't she pick out a lovely one?" Elliot held out his hand, laughing again. Olivia knew he was trying very hard to get off that subject.

"It looks exquisite." She smiled at Olivia. "You have good taste, ma'am. And do you have reservations?"

"They're under Tracy."

"Of course," she said, pulling the name up on her computer. "Four nights, five days. And the honeymoon suite. That's our finest room."

"Well, we'd only want the best." Elliot said. He was hugging her shoulder again, and now she was not so resistant to it.

"If you'll give me your keys, sir, our valets can park your car and take your things to the room. In the meantime, I'd suggest a tour of our grounds."

"Sounds perfect." Elliot said, handing her the car keys. Taking Olivia's hand again, he led her down the hall to where the blonde now stood. His hand felt alien within her fingers, but she was pretty sure she could get used to it.

"Well, that was informative." Olivia said, going through her suitcase until she had found her own pair of pajamas. An oversized shirt and plaid pants had never done her wrong before. "The woman directed us to all the programs the other victims were involved in. Sound fishy?"

"Probably not." Elliot was already in the bathroom, brushing his teeth. "We're the same age as the others, on our honeymoon, and we fit the same job and recreation profile. Why wouldn't she think we'd be interested in tennis or couples massage?"

"I don't know. It was almost like she was expecting us."

"That's called good service, considering we made reservations ahead of time, and told them when we'd be there." He gargled his Listerine. "Are you going to be this suspicious the whole week?"

"Excuse me for doing my job." she snapped, standing outside the door. "Are you done yet?"

"Yes," he said, stepping out. "I know we want to be careful, but it's not like we're being bugged, Olivia." He was right. There'd been equipment in his luggage that they'd run through the room to check for sound and video bugs, but there had been no trace in the suite.

"I just can't help feeling like we're out in the open here. Everyone who came in our situation was nailed the same way; the same massages, the same recreation programs, ate at the same restaurants. That was not a coincidence- the people working here directed them to do that. All the things that connect the murders are going to be connected to us too now, and that makes us sitting ducks as far as the murderer is concerned."

"Did you ever think that the murderer picked them because they did these things, not the other way around?" He took off a sweatshirt, revealing nothing more than a white tank and sweatpants. "There's no grand conspiracy making potential couples take certain classes."

"We should still be careful."

"Well of course we should still be careful. We're working on a case here. I don't plan to screw this up."

"I know." She left the bathroom, and her eyes fell on the bed. "Do you want the bed tonight?"

"What?"

"Do you want the bed tonight? There's a couch in the other room, and I can take that if you want."

"No, you don't have to take the couch. I'll sleep on the couch, and you take the bed."

"But I don't want you to be uncomfortable all night-"

"I don't care about that. It's fine; I'll take the couch and you take the bed."

"Elliot…"

"Come on Liv, I'm not taking the bed from you."

She stared at his face; hard, defiant. He could be so goddamn stubborn sometimes.

"If your back starts to hurt, promise me you'll wake me up and we'll switch, okay?"

"Alright, I promise. If anything happens, you know who to call. I'll be right in here." He took one of the pillows and headed into the other room. "Goodnight Olivia," he said quietly before closing the door behind him.

"Goodnight Elliot." She climbed into bed, and shut off the light beside her. This was the same bed five other women had met their fate in, and she couldn't help feeling at least a little afraid. The room suddenly felt very big, and she felt very cold.


	2. Sporting

**thanks to everyone for the great comments! I am so glad you guys like it- but sorry to everyone who wants to see thngs turn out alright...it's SVU, people. as in SEX CRIMES.**

**not a spoiler or anything...cough-cough...**

One moment he was hurtling off a cliff, screaming the name of the kid he roomed with in college. Next minute his eyes were open, and he was panting on the floor.

His back was numb, his neck was crooked, and he didn't think he could straighten his legs.

"Damn…couch…" he mumbled, taking to his feet like a cripple without his cane. The coffee table acted as prime support, never a good sign.

Elliot groaned as he stretched, listening to his spinal cord crack disc by disc. Yeah, this was pretty much what his chiropractor was talking about when he said where not to sleep. A hotel loveseat. _Made out of sticks…_

He could no longer straighten his back, so he stood, bent over like some sort of invalid, rubbing his shoulders and moaning unpleasantly.

"Morning!" Came a voice to his right, loud enough to make him jump with terror and send him onto his back once more, hitting the coffee table as he fell.

He looked up, hoping to see his partner about to help him up, but there was only steam from the open bathroom door. She stuck her head out, giggling like a teenager.

"I said good morning, grandpa!" She grinned that evil grin of hers. "Is your hearing aid not working?"

"Damn…loveseat…" He muttered, kicking the thing as he passed, only to stub his toe. Grabbing it with a shock of pain, he lost his balance and fell to the floor once more. This time she _did_ come out, khaki pants on, towel in her hair, and blouse unbuttoned. He blinked at that black bra. _Uh…_

"Jesus El, are you alright?" Strong hands grabbed him by the arms and pulled him to his feet. "I told you to take the bed-"

"I'm fine, okay?" he growled, "The couch was fine, absolutely great. I have no problem with the couch. In fact, I like the couch. I would not mind sleeping on the couch again. If you ask me about that couch, I will tell you- it's a great couch."

"Okay, Olivia does not want to hear about your relationship with the couch." She realized with flushed cheeks that her breasts were now level with his eyes, and turned to button her shirt up. "That sort of thing is private."

"Then button your shirt before you come out." he said, groaning with agony.

"I was talking about the couch, El." She rolled her eyes and gave him a sarcastic shrug of her shoulders, hurrying back into the bathroom in huffed retreat. "I always knew you were grumpy in the mornings, but not like this."

"Says she who slept through her paperwork yesterday."

"If you want to criticize me for sleeping in, then don't wake me up next time."

"I'll remember that." He shot back, grabbing his suitcase and pulling through it for some Daniel Tracy clothing. God, she could be a bitch sometimes.

Then again, he was not exactly the nicest dickhead to walk the planet either.

"Are you sure your back is okay?"

"Yeah, it's great." He sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for her to leave the bathroom.

"Aren't you going to a doctor for it?"

"No, I'm not." He lied again, though when she emerged from the bathroom he could tell she knew he was bluffing, as usual.

"Right. That chiropractor just makes appointments with you to chat over a cup of tea, then?"

"Exactly." He pulled out his razor. She reached into the room suddenly, her arm going over his shoulder and yanking the razor from his fingers. "What are you doing?" He asked, turning to where she stood in the doorway, one hand on her hip.

"Don't shave." she said, shrugging lightly.

"And why would I not shave?" He started, glaring at her. "I shave everyday. It's something I do. When I _don't_ do it, it throws me all off. Like you and your coffee."

"Daniel Tracy would look sexy with some stubble." she said quickly, shrugging again and closing the door in his face before he could reply.

She'd left the razor on the sink. He picked it up, stared at the place where she'd just stood, then put it back in his bag.

When he'd finished and pulled on a casual oxford and some slacks, he found her on the same couch he'd practically broken his back on, smiling expectantly at him.

"Well, you certainly clean up nicely." She grinned at him, standing and taking his arm as they headed out the door. "Daniel Tracy doesn't look bad on you."

"I wish Daniel Tracy didn't dress like someone from Queer Eye, though."

"Oh, _stop_ it. You look great! The slacks are not as form-fitting as you think, Mr. Only Wears Baggy Sweats. And Ralph Lauren is certainly your look…"

"I hope Ralph can stand my crappy laundromat."

"It's not like Mr. Tracy is going to want his clothes back."

"Somehow I feel like if I spill ketchup on the shirt that Cragen's going to fire me."

"Then don't have ketchup for breakfast."

"Breakfast…" He inhaled deeply, and detected something warm and cinnamon-smelling in the dining hall. "I hope it's French toast."

"Why?"

"Because I really want French toast right now."

They stopped outside the rustic looking dining hall, where a number of guests already sat around the multiple tables. Elliot sighed angrily at the sign by the door, which explained they were serving waffles today.

"Don't be such a baby." Olivia instructed, pulling on his arm when he tried to go back upstairs. "I think you can handle waffles."

"I'll just eat some of the complimentary biscotti that came with our extra pillows." he said, still tugging her towards the stairs. "I'm not hungry, really."

"You're going to eat the waffles, and you're going to enjoy them." She hissed in his ear, giving his arm one final pull and dragging him into the dining room. Elliot reluctantly gave in, not wanting to be further treated like a perp.

They sat down beside the windows, looking out over a frozen lake and the snow drifts that had settled beside it. Beyond were snow-covered mountains, and the sun rising unseen behind a wall of grey clouds.

"This place is gorgeous, isn't it?" Olivia said, staring out the window, her eyes gleaming. Elliot watched her carefully: the way she folded her napkin in her lap, the way she pushed her hair behind her ears and smiled out at the landscape. He couldn't put his finger on it, but there was something very different about her now. When they were in the city, there was always something dark in her eyes, a weight she would not share with anyone. But now that they were here, her eyes were light and playful, and her face was always glowing. Now that they were away, together, it was as though she had come _alive._

Granted they were on a case, and so the determined look remained on her face sometimes, but still…he stared at her wrist, curving gently as it rested beside her silverware. She was like a work of art.

"Elliot? Hel-LO?" She waved her hand in front of his face, and he blinked, glancing guiltily up at her. "You alright there? You were staring at my hand."

"Sorry," He mumbled, blushing. Thankfully, a woman arrived with plates to break the awkwardness.

"Good morning, folks!" She smiled warmly at them, handing them their plates. "Help yourselves to the buffet- we're serving fruit salad and waffles this morning!"

"We heard." Elliot said, rolling his eyes. When he glanced over at Olivia, she was giving him a sarcastic smile.

The food was actually not as bad as he'd thought; the waffles were delicious as was the fruit and coffee, so he had no reason to complain after their meal.

"Well, it _wasn't_ French toast." He said to her as they left, arm in arm again. He was starting to get used to that gesture.

"If you want French toast so bad, I'll have to make you some one of these days."

"You can do that?" He blinked at her, only to receive a laugh in response.

"Yes, I can cook." Olivia rolled her eyes, still laughing. "I may not be able to fix a nine-course dinner, but I think I can make French toast."

He laughed too. "I just thought women like you couldn't cook."

She raised an eyebrow. "Women like what?"

"I don't know…professional women? A lot of women can't do household stuff. Kathy couldn't clean, but she could cook really well."

"Not like me." She said quickly, but there was something like anger in her voice. Why did she always get so tense when he mentioned Kathy? Yes, they weren't on the best of terms either, but he hadn't fully divorced her yet. She was still practically his wife.

"No, not at all." His eyes drifted to the pictures hanging in the hallway, scenes of the wilderness. In one painting, a hunter struggled with an angry bear. Elliot knew the feeling.

"Did you see our schedule?" She asked, and he was glad she had changed the subject.

"No."

"Well, we have indoor tennis at eleven-thirty, yoga at one, massages at five, and we're going to a dance at seven tonight."

"The massages sound nice."

"I know," She smirked at him. "I keep forgetting we're working when we do this stuff."

"Well, we have the afternoon to do our jobs." He grinned back. "Tennis is in five minutes, and I'm not really dressed for that kind of a thing."

"It'll be more fun this way. Just take off your shoes and wear your socks. It's an indoor court, and we should be one of the only ones there."

She was right. They were the only ones at the tennis court when they entered, leaving their shoes beside the mats against the wall.

"I called them ahead of time, so they got our rackets and balls for us." She nodded to the rackets leaning against the net. Elliot awkwardly stepped onto the court. Olivia was in the corner, removing her blouse and pants. He did a double-take, dropping the tennis balls. She turned, revealing blue shorts and a tank top she had worn underneath her clothes.

"_Hey!_" He yelled, throwing her racket at her. "No fair! I can't change and now I look like an idiot!"

"On the contrary, you look very suave." She bounced a tennis ball, bending over and swinging her racket back. Her swing was way more powerful than he'd expected, and the ball that hit the wall behind him bounced off and right into the back of his head.

"Whoops…" She covered a grin with her hand, hiding a laugh. He growled, picking up the ball and attempting a back hand swing. The ball barely made the net. Not only did he have his lack of tennis skills to account for it, but he'd been a bit busy staring at her in her tight tank top and shorts. Her shoulders and arms were shaped like they'd been sculpted, but when she swung…holy shit.

"I'm going to kick your ass at this." She gave him a wicked grin and swung again. This time he was able to hit the ball over the net, and they volleyed back and forth until her arm finally got the best of him.

"Told you," she said when they finished, he pulling on his shoes and she pulling on her pants.

"I never doubted it for a second." He panted, leaving his rack hanging on the wall. "Please tell we have 'Napping 101' next."

"Yoga, actually." Olivia buttoned her blouse, and part of him was very sad to see her shoulders go.

"That doesn't sound very strenuous."

"Well, we_ do_ have clothes for this. We can go back to the room to change."

When one o 'clock finally came along, they reported downstairs to one of the hotel's southern wings, where a full yoga and dance studio had been installed. Elliot felt like an idiot in his baggy pants, and he'd pulled a sweatshirt over the tank top she'd handed him, much to Olivia's protesting.

"What are the mats for?" He whispered once they'd settled on the floor. There were about nine others, as well as the instructor, a young blonde who looked as though she weighed the same as his twelve year old. "I can't hurt my back doing this, can I?" That was the _last_ thing he needed to do today.

"Ask your chiropractor the next time you have tea." Olivia hissed back, folding her legs under her as the class began.

But after going up and down as many dogs as he could, Elliot was discovering he was the least flexible in the class and the least enthusiastic. While the instructor sat with her back to them, her legs on either side of her, Elliot remained somewhere between a dog and a turtle, his back unable to move. Besides, he was too busy staring at Olivia, who'd had no trouble assuming the positions shown to them. Her long, gauzy shirt matched her eyes perfectly, and in her tight-fitting pants, she pulled her leg behind her back and grabbed it over her shoulder, perfectly balanced on her knee. He had to hold his jaw in place to keep it from dropping.

"How are you doing this?" He asked once they were back in a lotus position, his back still creaking like an untreated door.

"I've been doing yoga for a while." She shrugged, her eyes still ahead of her. Thank god they were at the back of the group; everyone else was just as experienced as Olivia, and he didn't need to look like an idiot in front of them too. "Take your sweatshirt off."

"Why?"

"It'll be easier."

He couldn't tell if she was lying or not. He pulled it over his head, feeling bare with nothing but a white tank top beneath. At least with his muscular arms he didn't look like as out-of-shape as he felt. Now it was Olivia's turn to not do her work, and he caught her staring at him as they pulled into more positions.

He was more than happy when the clock struck two, and he could roll up his yoga mat and never approach the subject again.

"Don't you feel great?" Olivia asked, smiling at him as she started up the stairs.

"My chiropractor and I will have a lot to talk about the next time we meet." He groaned as his back creaked beneath his hand, and he straightened it out again with a wince.

"You're such a baby." she said, her voice quieter and more affectionate this time. She took his arm in hers again, but this time as Olivia Benson, not Mrs. Daniel Tracy.


	3. Falling

**sorry for how long it took me to update- mid-terms, family issues, and my research paper on Tolstoy sort of got in the way. being a sophomore in high school is not supposed to be so goddamn strenuous!**

**thank you all SO MUCH for your comments- I can't believe people are liking this story! for everyone who has been singing "Kiss the Girl" for the past two chapters, just hold your breath a little longer. I'm not saying this exact chapter, but I _am_ saying later on perhaps…**

**I am such a moocher…I make a cameo in this chapter. for all of you going OMGWTF right now, I am an avid Nordic skier, who is wearing her hair in pigtails this very minute as I do every ski race (we had ours cancelled today- damn rain!) so I'm the pigtailed ski girl. yup. I'm a loser.**

As she slipped out of her yoga pants and back into the khakis, she could feel everything 'Olivia Benson' about herself falling away, replaced by the stark white of Lauren Tracy. She imagined Lauren was more professional than she was; her pants always pressed, her hair always perfect, her face always in a pleasant smile that was more business-like than friendly. It would have been so easy to assume the role and get this over with, but **_he_** was here. He was here and he was catching her eye and holding her arm, and suddenly it was very hard to remember who you were.

_Partner. Partner partner partner. _She told herself._ Not lover. Not friend. Not even friend with benefits. Just partner. _

"You ready yet?" He poked his head into the bathroom, only to catch her as she pulled her leg into the pant.

She practically fell back into the shower, and he hurried over to catch her hand before she fell. His fingers were warm against her palm, his grip stronger than hers. _"Partner!" _She hissed to herself as she was lifted up and into his chest.

"What?" He stared down at her with a confused look before pushing her away, sensing the awkwardness in their position.

"Nothing. Where are we going?"

"Into the town. I figure we should start doing what we came for."

"Getting stalked?" She ventured, grinning lopsidedly.

"Investigating." He shot over his shoulder, but she saw laughter in his eyes. She took his hand when he offered it, not afraid to turn a little red. Olivia Benson or not, she was his wife right now, and she had no problem with that.

The town was small but very quaint, a ski resort village with a small supermarket, a few restaurants, and a number of ski shops.

"Uh, Elliot?" She asked as she peered into the back of the SUV, driving down the main street. "We wouldn't happen to be doing any investigating on the slopes, would we?" She nodded at the skis behind her, raising her eyebrow at him.

"Not the slopes, no."

"So we're just accessorizing?"

"We're going to do some _real_ exercise." He grinned widely, and then turned back to the road.

She continued to raise her eyebrow, giving him a skeptical look. "You realize I have absolutely no idea how to downhill ski, right?"

"I realize that, seeing as I don't either."

"So you're just itching for a cup of tea with the chiropractor?" Olivia tried not to laugh. "Because you know if we go skiing, you will most definitely fall and break your back."

"We're not downhill skiing: we're **Nordic** skiing!" He said triumphantly, waving towards the skis in the back with a flourish of his mittened hand.

She stared blankly at him. Yes, he had gone insane. "And the difference is…?"

"Downhill is Alpine skiing, and you don't get very much exercise. Nordic is cross-country, and it's a great workout."

"How do you know this?"

"My mom used to take me up to the Catskills when I was little, and she taught me how. Granted I haven't done this for about twenty years, but I think I remember."

When they got to the lodge, it was pretty clear he **didn't**remember.

"Wait- I need **wax**?" He stared blankly at the pig-tailed girl behind the counter, who was holding out an iron and a chunk of what looked like soap.

"You don't have waxless skis, sir. If you don't wax these, you'll have absolutely no control."

"Trust me- he won't have control either way." Olivia said, peeking over his shoulder. Elliot rolled his eyes at her.

"She's jealous because I have more experience than her." Elliot explained to the girl, who nodded slowly, looking perplexed.

"Yeah, **right**."

"Okay, do you know how to wax?" The girl asked, staring from the iron to Elliot's eager smile.

"Sure. How hard can it be?" He took the iron and chunk from her hands and set his ski on the table. "You just take this soap stuff-"

"I think that's the wax, Elliot." Olivia said, trying not to laugh.

"Of course it is! I knew that!" He shot angrily over his shoulder, bending over the ski. "You rub the wax on the ski, and then you…uh…you do it again…uh…"

Olivia rolled her eyes. "What's the iron for, Nordic Man?"

"Well, it's for…um…" He stared at the iron with a touch of anger in his eyes, frustrated by its lack of help in the issue. "I guess you…" He began to rub it into the wax, which did not help.

"Sir," The girl ran up, grabbing the objects from his hands. "You are definitely going to ruin your skis, no offense." She carefully removed the skis from the table. "Why don't I give these to one of the boys, and they'll do it for you?"

"Sounds great." He said, shrugging reluctantly. Olivia handed the girl her own skis as well, grinning at her partner.

"Cross country expert, huh?"

"Shut up." He tied up his boots, glaring at her.

"Well, don't quit your day job for a lifetime in Finland, okay?"

"We're not really here to ski, so what does it matter?"

"What are we here for?"

"Cragen's going to call my cell out here."

"If we get service."

"We will get service. I'm going way out in the woods and he's going to give us an update. Apparently, they've made some progress."

"And it's so nice to know we'll get some exercise in the process." Olivia said, winking at him. Elliot rolled his eyes and thanked the man now coming back with his skis, ready for powder.

Elliot was not the self-proclaimed skier he had originally made himself out to be, and Olivia was doing much better than he by the time they reached the second loop of trails.

"Lift your ski!" She yelled back to him as he struggled across the flat, slipping in the track. "Are you sure you-"

"Yes! I think I know how to do this, Olivia." He grumbled back, glaring up at her from the brim of his wool hat. She hid a laugh and studied the map on the tree beside her.

"I think we'll be at Katherine's Run by the time Cragen calls." She shot him a sideways glance. "Or Lex's Loop, if we keep this speed."

"Are they isolated?"

"Very."

"Fine." He struggled past her, his poles flailing alongside him. He turned around and rolled his eyes when she did not immediately follow. "Well, are we going to get there on time or not?"

"I'm just giving you a head start." She said, shrugging innocently.

"I'll give _you_ a head start." He threatened, glaring menacingly over his shoulder before taking off down a hill. Olivia did not have to wait long to hear the familiar cry and splat as he hit the ground halfway down the slope.

"Understand my logic?" She said as she glided past him, swinging her skis beside her and coming to a graceful stop at the bottom of the hill.

"You always have wonderful points." Elliot struggled to his feet, using a tree for support. When he fell back down again, she skied up to him and gave him her hand.

"Need a lift, Nordic Man?" She grinned at him, but he gave her a thankful smile in return. She suddenly felt very guilty for picking on him. When his arm gave a tug and pulled her to the ground with him, she could only laugh.

But when laughter subsided, she found herself on top of him, her nose touching his. She stared awkwardly into his eyes, and blushed when she saw the expression in them.

_BEEEEEEP!_

The cell phone interrupted their moment however, and Elliot awkwardly reached into his pocket to pull it out, avoiding her eye. She too turned away, getting back to her feet and keeping a distance from where he lay in the snow. Had she just done that? Had she just stared into his eyes **_that way?_**

"Good afternoon to you too, Captain." Elliot was avoiding her eye, lucky for her. Staring back into those things again would be traumatizing.

Plus she didn't think she'd ever be able to look away.

Donald Cragen rubbed his temples, nudging the phone at his ear with his shoulder. The captain of the special victims unit was supposed to know how to 'keep his cool' no matter what stressful situation came his way, but today was going to be one of those damned 'exceptions to the rules.'

First, there was the file in his hands. Huang did a psycho-analysis-thing (Cragen never understood science…really) on the perp, and now the profile had completely changed.

"He's going to be very proud of what he does, thus doing it in a room beside her husband. He's probably only cocky in the bedroom though; Huang says you should be looking for a timid guy, not the brash type we were thinking of before. The police were interviewing all the wrong guys. He has to know exactly what he's doing though: he timed the drugs just right, and he knew how they were going to work."

"Shy genius chemist. Right. I'm sure that will be **_much_** easier." Cragen could tell by Elliot's expression that the bastard was rolling his eyes.

"More good news, then. Rodney Johnson is talking."

"Tara's husband?"

"Yeah, and he's got a lot more to say than when Munch and Fin first questioned him."

"Like what?"

"Like how his wife told him about some man who she saw a few times at the hotel. Seems Tara wasn't alone all the time after all. Shifty Eyed Stranger was always following her."

"A stalker?"

"She might have been exaggerating. But whoever this guy was, he was spooking her enough to get her stressed out over it."

"Any of the other women see him?"

"None of their husbands reported it, but let's face the facts. Those poor men were so stunned by the media hype and their wife's face being plastered across the news…I doubt they were able to remember much after the fifth person wanted an interview."

"So by the time they were ready to talk, too many people had already questioned them?"

"The police talked to them first, but they were never able to say much. Luckily for us, Tara has yet to receive any hype, so Rodney told us about the stalker."

"Did she describe what he looks like, or where he was?"

Cragen stared down at the file in his hands. "The pool has some rooms overlooking it, right? Well, she saw someone watching her while she was in the pool, and a few minutes later he was down by the pool, just sitting there watching her."

"Real conspicuous."

"Reading a newspaper, but his eyes weren't exactly staying on the sports page. He did this for two days, and also followed her down to breakfast, the gym, you name it."

"Did she ever try to confront him?"

"He was always too far away, or disappeared when she tried to approach him."

"That's helpful. Shy indeed, but no genius."

"He's a rapist, Elliot. We're not looking for brain surgeons, just psychos."

"So I need to keep an eye out for him. Got it."

"Take care of yourself while you're doing it. And keep an eye on Liv, too- I know she probably would like to handle it herself, but you've got to watch her back."

"What else are partners for but getting some back?"

Cragen blinked. Had he just detected something strangely pervy in that sentence? Wow, it was definitely going to be a weird day. Must have been that fishy taste in his coffee- Munch and Fin had been doing something to the plumbing, he knew it.

As Cragen hung up, he glanced Munch and Fin through the blinds, hovering dangerously by the coffee machine. Munch was dialing his cell phone- Fin was giggling.

_**Giggling.**_

This could only mean trouble.


	4. Gamble

**must…get…to…drama. **

**I know, the humor is just wearing me thin. I'm sure you're all like: "rape somebody already!" but let's let time take its course. kate is dying to get the tear-jerking-rip-your-heart-from-chest-and-pound-it-with-a-sympathy-stake fun on its way, but I suppose a good tampon joke is due. **

**I am currently staring at some mariska-preggo icons on svuicons. holy frick. perhaps I should start thinking about going down that path eventually, though this story would probably die an untimely death with a baseball bat in its rear. but the temptation…mariska is so adorable pregnant. MAJOR SIGH.**

**sorry this is a short chapter. I want to stretch this poor storyline for as long as I can, so the chapters will be a bit shorter, lucky for you. also, sorry I skipped between perspectives for a bit- the scene sort of called for it. have a party again, folks.**

She had seen the expression on his face, much as he had wanted his sarcasm to hide it. She had seen the way he'd glanced over his shoulder, bright grey eyes flickering onto her form as she stood beneath the towering birches. Was it fear? Was it pity?

Was it both?

"What did he say?" She tried to smile casually, like she hadn't noticed his expression.

He shrugged, slipping the phone back into his jacket pocket. "Tara was being stalked. And Huang came up with a new profile."

"Stalked?" She stared at him, rubbing the back of his neck in earnest shame. What did he have to be sorry for? She was the one who had said 'Yes, I'll do the case.'

"Yeah, have you noticed anyone…you know?"

"No." She tried to remember a face that had stood out, a man whose gaze had lingered on her longer than normal. But she couldn't. Part of her breathed a sigh of relief. Part of her just wanted the case over with.

He rested his hand on her shoulder, his smile suddenly reassuring. Well, the case didn't have to _completely_ end, maybe…

"Hey, don't worry." He stared into her eyes, and she was afraid he would see what she was thinking. Thos eyes of his…it was like they could strip away her whole soul. "What's a husband if he doesn't keep an eye on his wife?"

She sunk under his grip. He could have said something about partners, about cops, about friends.

But _husband and wife_. Something they weren't. Something they were.

"Thanks, Daniel." She whispered, wrapping an arm around his neck and pulling him in for a playful hug. But it didn't seem right, because she wasn't Lauren Tracy, and right at that moment he was anything but a corporate salesman from Ohio.

"Anytime." His cell phone went off again. She pulled away, but she didn't want to let go. She wasn't ready to feel alone again, not until she'd put her 'Lauren Tracy' self back on. Lauren Tracy could let go of her husband, because he was hers, and always would be, just like the vows they'd taken before a perfumed altar. But Elliot didn't belong to her anymore than the clothes on her back, and not having him would break her, she knew it.

Elliot pulled the cell phone to his ear, his eyes still on the back of her head. She looked so small beside him, so fragile. Daniel Tracy could comfort his wife, but Elliot could never be there for her like that. Hell, he wasn't even divorced yet. He was supposed to be comforting someone else, letting someone else rest on his shoulder. But Kathy hadn't touched him like that in about three years, and he knew she probably never would again.

"Hello?"

"El?" Oh god. It was Munch.

"What John?"

"Well, we have something to say to you."

"We?"

Fin snickered in the background.

"Hello Fin."

"How's it going, Elliot? You doing Olivia yet?"

"Excuse me?" He pulled the cell phone out of his ear, hoping speaker phone wasn't on. Olivia turned to him, casting her huge brown eyes on his hand. He shoved the phone back to his ear, turning around with a groan.

"Look El, you got three days to yourselves, and you got fake names. If I were you, I would start having my fun right about-"

"Much. Fin. What the hell are you two doing?" Cragen's voice was heard in the background. And it was not his happy voice.

"Ordering a pizza." Munch said quickly, and from the sounds of the cell phone had just stuffed the phone into his pocket.

"From Elliot?" Cragen's muffled voice still sounded pissed. Elliot hid a laugh.

"No, from the pizza place."

"And Elliot works there now?"

A guy named Elliot does- but not our Elliot."

"Right. Give me the phone."

"I don't know what I did with it!"

"It's in your pocket, John. Stop acting like a five-year-old and give me the phone."

"But Captain…"

"Give me the phone. You know you are absolutely not allowed to call someone when they are undercover, especially not to chat. Do you want to endanger our entire mission?"

"I have to pee!" Munch squealed, and from the sounds in the background, made a run out the door, other feet, probably Fin's following close behind. Elliot would have hung up, had he not wanted to hear Cragen kick their asses.

In a few seconds, Munch put his mouth to the phone again.

"Sorry El, you still there?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"We made our break to the men's room."

"Which Cragen can still go in."

"We locked the door and pushed a chair under the knob."

"You guys are insane."

"We're cops. We know how to hole up for defense, right?"

"Do you have anything useful to say to me?"

"Of course we do. Unless you want your old buddy John to go broke, you will hop in that bed and-"

"Goodbye, boys." He folded the phone up, shaking his head. _Morons…_

Fin grabbed the phone from Munch's hand while slapping him beside the head. "You idiot! Now we'll never know who's right!"

"Look, I have 300 dollars on stake. I don't think I'm going to give up so easily. You think Cragen has any surveillance on those two?"

"Probably not."

"Yeah, he trusts them too much." Munch got an evil grin on his lips. "But we don't, do we?"

Fin shrugged, rolling out his eyes and pulling a twenty from his pocket. "I hope you're right. Twenty more dollars says they're in bed in two days."

"Three hundred and two says they're doing it by tonight." Munch said, giggling like a six year old and patting his wallet. "Prepare to lose it big, buddy."


	5. Darkness

**wow. the reviews are coming in like trekkies to scotty's corpse. you are all being lovely, you scoundrels. thanks for sending me into a wild abandon of bliss.**

**well, it's finally time for some good clean drama. I know drama better than TNT (at least I hope so) and this chapter calls for some angst and clinginess. I was feeling very literary tonight after my Tolstoy paper research citations (bloody bitches, they are) so I started writing this instead of doing my work. damn you dick wolf, this is all your fault.**

**I watched X-Files season 8 last night with lex and began to regret that dick wolf is not for taking Liv and El down the Mulder/Scully route. just one kiss, dicky. that's all I ask. just one. Olivia doesn't have to have alien babies, but she could at least kiss elliot over one. give the fanfic writers something to have fanfic orgies about for a few years. **

**for those of you wondering, I actually live in upstate new york, in a suburb south of lake george, so most of my life is spent in the Adirondacks, where liv and el currently are. it is absolutely gorgeous, and if you have never been, you really should. **

**happy reading!**

She watched the headlights on the road, infrequent as they were, flames that burst and blinded her until they flew past, descending onto her memories. After all, their route was taking them past places she had already seen, into a land she'd already walked. She looked over at Elliot, his eyes on the road, his face passive, unreadable. Was he dwelling on the past, on the life he'd given up for a week, laced with troubles and affairs that even she could not understand? Or did he stare at the headlights like she did, contemplating a future that was racing out of their control?

Stalked. Raped. Dead. Women had been down this road before, their husbands beside them, their eyes on the headlights flashing onto the black skeletons of trees. They'd taken this road until it had led to a room, a bed…a tomb.

She could die tonight.

She looked over at him again, turning up the heat, adjusting the dial on the radio. A French voice broke the dark silence, and he pressed the button again, searching for a signal. But only static met their ears, a cold and grating sound beating against her brain.

There was no civilization out here after all. No one to send out a song, or report the news, or warm the cold night with a friendly joke. No one to hear your car break down beside the road.

No one to hear your screams.

She sighed, staring at his hand on the steering wheel. His hands were guiding her home now. His hands would be the only thing that might save her from the cruel fate so many others had faced.

They hadn't spoken since they'd gotten in the car. Before, the trip had felt like a vacation. She'd almost forgotten the man they were hunting, the justice to be served. But then the call. Then the way she'd had to stare at every male face that crossed her path, never knowing, never able to understand. Suddenly the danger was here, and it was swallowing her every thought with a pang of cold hopelessness.

_I know what to do. The room is secure. I don't have to worry._

But their rooms were secure. Their husbands were right there. They'd been prepared for anything.

_Elliot's with me. _

She saw him turn to her, and met his eyes with inert reception. "You okay?" His voice was like a mitten, warming a wet and frozen hand.

"Just thinking…" She turned back to the road. If she stared long enough, would she cry? Would she show her fears and become the horribly insecure woman she'd always thought she'd be someday?

But no. His eyes made her stronger. Just being next to her made her…calmer, somehow.

"You don't have to be worried." He must have seen her face. She wanted to bury her head in her hands. She had to hide this feeling somehow. He shouldn't feel obligated like this. She was still his equal, even when it was…different.

"I know." She bit her lip, wanting to bleed. She needed to know she was still here, that she was still human and had not turned to stone as she'd anticipated. "But it's hard not to think about it…about what happened to them. I hope we can just catch the guy and get out of here, you know?"

"We'll get him soon. We just have to wait, I guess." He stretched, rubbing his shoulder with his free hand. She could tell he didn't like the idea of waiting at all. He hated it.

"I don't like waiting, either." She said softly, giving him a small smile. He blinked into the headlights, chewing his lip.

"I don't mind waiting." His voice was quiet, solemn…honest. "It's this whole sense of helplessness that gets to me."

"I know."

The headlights were not as few now, and they were entering the village, streetlights adding to the blinding spots in her vision. And just as they entered civilization once more with a friendly 'Welcome to the Mountains' beside the road, their conversation died, and she was left with the silence of fluorescent 'opens', smiling people, and the sounds of the world around her.

There was nothing lonelier than being here, amid the smiling faces and friendly families, knowing he was somewhere among them. At least out there, they hadn't been so different from the isolated wilderness, the wild abandon that stood solitary beyond the grocery stores and the prowling cars. But here in the village, they were nothing like the happy people living in a tame and noisy environment. They stood out in their souls like swans among pigeons, sad and mournful beside flurries of joy and activity.

…

It had been a half hour since they'd come back to the hotel, but here he still remained: jacket on, boots still on his feet (though untied), gloves on his hands, sprawled across the couch before a glowing screen. He stared at Anderson Cooper's face and remembered the news blaring in the background when he'd gotten a call at the house.

_I can't do this anymore, Elliot. I'm staying at my sister's; send my grandmother's china there._

They'd gotten that for their wedding. When she'd opened the box she'd started to cry, and he'd leaned over her shoulder, inhaling her flower-scented hair as he stared at the delicately painted plates in her lap. Why had she cried? It was just a set of dishes.

Maybe that's why they'd gone their separate ways. He'd never understood.

Anything.

Olivia was in the bedroom. She's turned on the television in there too; he could hear people talking, weeping, apologizing. He stared at the screen, squinting into the light. He tried to listen to the dialogue, but all he could hear was a distant one in his own head.

_Kathy, are you sure?_

_Aren't you?_

_I don't know._

He hadn't asked her to marry him. She was pregnant after three months of dating. His parents were devout Catholics, her father was not the forgiving type. They'd gone to Boston, and married each other that weekend. Why Boston? He couldn't remember. He remembered she'd worn a green dress. It looked like a parched lawn. He'd had white slacks on. They'd been very uncomfortable.

They'd had no honeymoon. That night in the hotel, she'd complained of being overtired and fallen asleep. When he'd kissed her shoulder, his tongue lingering beside her neck, she'd frowned at him.

_I'm pregnant, Elliot. We can't do that._

They could have. They could have done anything: gone to dinner, held each other, watched a movie. But she'd gone to sleep and he'd lay down beside her, though slumber would not come to him. When he'd touched her arm in the night, she'd brushed it away.

Maybe he should have known then. Maybe he should have seen it coming.

They'd grown on each other. In those years he could not deny he loved her. He was obsessed with her hair, her feet, her face. He cherished her smiles and her laughter. If only she had shared them with him more often.

_Goodbye, Elliot. _

He'd hung up the phone.

Turned back to the news.

Stared at a face on a screen and blinked back the one tear that fell down his cheek.

Elliot sighed now, trying to shake the memory from his mind. He'd cried, damn it. Why had he cried for her? He'd lost her the day he'd taken the job.

Elliot's first year on the squad had been a bit of a shock, but he had grown used to it. Kathy did not ask, he did not tell, and he had not feared for his smiling children when he came home at night. Sometimes he regretted it, sometimes he was proud of the justice he served.

But something had been missing.

Even now he did not know.

_Johnston's not coming back, Elliot. Your new partner is sitting outside._

Elliot remembered the first time he had seen Olivia, seated at the bench beside the doors, biting her lip, crossing her legs. Her arms were folded around a coat, and she stared around her with eyes alert and knowing.

_She's just a kid, Cragen._

_She's three years younger than you are, El._

_When did she graduate?_

_She'd fresh out of training, but she's good. They wouldn't have sent her here first if she wasn't._

_So she has no experience. Great._

_She'll grow on you, Elliot. Trust me._

She had.

Elliot took off his gloves, laying them on the table beside him. He threw his boots near the door, folded his jacket onto the couch. His hand reached for the remote, but instead he stood up, compulsive legs leading him to the bedroom door.

He could hear the television more clearly now. Audrey Hepburn. Cary Grant, maybe? What was the movie? He couldn't remember.

He pushed the door open a crack, peering between the treated wood to see the black and white arms clinging to one another, black and white drops of water falling from their faces.

He pushed the door open more, turning to where the bed was. She was on it, her head on the pillows, one arm draped over the backboard while the other lay lazily on her middle. She did not turn to him, so absorbed in the movie was she, so he stepped in.

"Can I join you?"

She looked up at him. Had she been crying? Her eyes were so wide, so deep. But they were rimmed with red. Perhaps she had been sleeping…certainly not crying, not Olivia…

She nodded, moving over to give him space on the bed. He would have sat in a chair, but here she was, telling him to lie down beside her. He gingerly sat down on the side, finally pulling his legs onto the bedspread and propping his back against the backboard.

"Is it a good movie?" He asked, biting his lip.

"I don't remember much of it. I haven't' seen it since I was in college."

"College?"

"Some girlfriends got a whole bunch of old movies one weekend, and we all stayed up in their dorm and watched them. This was one of them."

"What's it about?"

"Love, I guess."

She yawned, and stretched. When she finally settled, her body was pressed against his. He stared at the screen, suddenly unaware of the characters' movements across it. She was so warm… and he was so cold…

He lost track of time lying there, staring at the story played out in two toned colors. He hadn't noticed, but an hour had passed, and when he looked to Olivia, he found her asleep. Her eyes closed, she let out a peaceful sigh and her muscles loosened. Her head fell onto his shoulder, gently, but not consciously.

It fit there.

There was something right about it.

And then he did not something he had never dared do before. He leaned over and buried his nose in her hair, inhaling deeply as though he could breathe in her soul.

Cinnamon. Almonds. Tea.

She smelled like a warm day spent under the sheets, an autumn sunset with only two witnesses, a night warmed by crackling fires and someone's arms.

He pulled his face from her hair, staring back at the screen.

"I should kiss you…" That porcelain face whispered to her lover, her hand on his shoulders.

"I'm not going to stop you."

"I know." And she kissed him, just like that, black and white bodies colliding in brilliant motion.

"You know," He said when she'd pulled away, his hands still around her waist. "You've really grown on me."

And she laughed, throwing back a head that had once laughed in life sixty years ago, and held him closer.


	6. Dirty Laundry

**holy frick. the comments are coming in faster than mulder to scully's ass. **

**(naughty snickers) I am such a perv….**

**well folks, no worries about me not finishing this story. I entirely intend to do so, as well as update as daily as can be considered daily. I'm a little busy with wrapping up this research paper (damn Tolstoy to hell) and getting my college stuff together (early application starts this fall, and I need to organize an art portfolio- yes, I draw too- and start working on essays and such) but I will not let my eager beaver readers down, I swear it. (insert Aragorn to dying Boromir promise kiss here)**

**random note: are they saying 'oh my color thong' in "Spanish Bombs" by The Clash? I knew Joe Strummer was a little on the pervy side, but I don't see what thongs have to do with Spain. **

**I've been home sick for two days with strep throat (but oh, the squash soup! how it warms the infirmed soul!), which gives me one of two things to do: finish this godforsaken research paper, or write another two chapters. guess what I'm doing? yup. not letting my eager beaver readers down. in case you haven't guessed yet, I intend to be a writer someday, though I am intending to major in and study anthropology in college. yet somehow, this research paper is pretty much the worse thing I have ever written. ever. **

**thank god for this lovely diversion.**

**enjoy, my pinkish puppies of story-devouring delight!**

It was the best sleep he had ever gotten.

Ever.

Even better than falling asleep in his wife's arms, sprawled across the bench on the front porch, waking up to the sun rising over his neighbor's lawn. Even better than waking up with his infant daughter on his chest, her little frame rising and falling with his own breath. So much better.

He stretched in the sunlight streaming through lacy curtains, rolled over onto his jean-clad side, basked in the wonder that was this perfect feeling of bliss.

"Good morning," He whispered, opening his eyes. But she wasn't there. She was gone. He was saying good morning to…the pillowcase.

He sat up, rubbing his eyes in disbelief.

Had it been a dream? The whole news and the movie and the head-on-shoulder sleeping?

Oh hell, he was_ such_ an idiot.

She was probably on the couch, stretching an aching back, and he was just lying here enjoying something perfectly rotten.

"Olivia?" He practically fell off the bed, his feet catching him once they hit the wooden floor.

There was no response. He pushed open the door, catching the faint smell of cinnamon and the sounds of the radio, turned up as Norah Jones told the world about a sunrise.

There she was. There she was in all her glory, her back to him and her hands flying over a stove, humming to the song that serenaded their morning. Oxford shirt gracing her faint form, lacking pants (_lacking pants!) _the stove top crackling pleasantly before her, there she stood. He stared and stared, unable to keep his eyes away from this morning vision.

He stepped towards her, his weight causing the floor to let out a distressful squeal. She turned, two eggs in hand, and let out a scream, diving behind the counter.

"Oh god, don't _do_ that." Her eyes appeared above the container of milk, and she rolled them in annoyance. "You scared me to death."

"Sorry," He shrugged nervously. "I didn't know where you were."

"I thought you'd be asleep a few more hours. You were out like a light when I woke up." She slowly got to her feet, though she kept her waistline and its lower aspects behind the counter. _Where were her pants? _"That's kind of why I thought I could wait before ironing my pants."

"I see that," He bit his lip, trying to hide a grin. He avoided her eyes as he sat down at the counter, pulling out a stool. "Is that breakfast?"

"Oh, yeah…" She flipped something from the stove to a plate, handing it to him with a pitcher of syrup. "French toast."

He stared at the plate in her hands, his face suddenly numb. "You're kidding."

"No, I told you I can cook."

"How did you…"

"I got up early. The lady downstairs said it was eggs and sausage this morning, so I ran to the grocery store in town to pick a few things up. Lucky for this kitchen area, huh?"

He pulled a knife and fork from the drawer beside him, his mouth salivating with the smell of the meal before him. It smelled even better than Kathy's used to be…

"Delicious," He said, when he finally piled a piece into his mouth, chewing blissfully. "I have to hand it to you Liv, you really can cook."

"Well, coffee is my specialty, but there _are_ some things I can handle on a stove."

"Too bad you can't make me breakfast every morning."

She grinned at him. "Pop-tarts wearing you thin?"

"Easy Mac has started my day for quite a while now."

She made a face. "That's disgusting."

"Kathy was always right. I cannot cook for my life."

"Lucky I came along this trip…" She sat down across from him, putting another piece onto his plate. "It's really the least I can do…"

"For what?" He looked up at her, a piece of bread shoved in his mouth.

"What you did last night...it was really, really…nice. I don't know how you knew, but I really needed someone to be…near me."

"No problem." He stared at his plate, attempting to shovel more of the toast into his mouth. It wasn't a dream. She was really there. And she had _wanted_ it. "What are partners for?" He tried to give her a smile, though the food in his mouth may have made it a bit disgusting. She laughed, taking a bite of her own French toast.

They laughed throughout the meal, for no reason except one: if they stopped laughing, he expected he would cry.

They cleared the plates and she went to the sink, rolling up her sleeves. She didn't seem to mind her lack of pants anymore, and he was quite content to stare at her while she worked. How long had it been since he'd seen a woman this…_normal?_

_How was your day?_

_Fine._

_You always say that._

_What am I supposed to say, Kathy? _

_I don't know, Elliot. What do you think I want to hear?_

_We found a woman who drowned in her bathtub after someone raped her, beat her, and wrote 'Whore' on her door. It was a great day._

After that night, she stopped staying up to wait for him to come home. When he'd unlock the door at three a.m., pulling off his socks and crawling into bed, sometimes she'd be in the guest bedroom. Sometimes he'd be in there. It didn't matter; they just stopped sharing a bed. Whatever had been there before…it was gone.

Last night was the first time he had shared a bed with a woman in three years.

"Elliot?" He looked up at Olivia, her hair falling across her forehead, her eyes still smiling. She was happy with him.

And here he'd thought it was impossible for a woman to _ever_ be happy with him.

"Syrup on my chin?"

"No, I just thought you'd take the laundry out for me."

"Doesn't the hotel do that?"

"It's a lot cheaper to take it to the laundromat in town."

"Are we suddenly on a budget?" He laughed. "I thought it'd be fun to drain Cragen's allotted money."

"Let's just give the state a break for once, okay?" She went into the other room, emerging again with a bag of laundry in her hand. "Lauren Tracy needs her clean clothes."

He reached for the bag, but his hand fell onto hers instead. She dropped the bag, and her fingers suddenly pressed around his. He stared at her, attempting to hold his mouth closed, hoping his palms weren't sweating and his heart wasn't racing like a teenage hormone case.

"You have to…go." She said, her eyes locking onto his.

"I know…" He stared at her, unable to move. _Oh hell…_

"The laundry…" She stared at him with those dark chocolate eyes, and he found he was completely unable to recall what laundry was, nor when he was born, or the last time he had felt his heart flutter like this.

"The prom."

"What?" She let go of his hand, pulling it to her chest as though he had wounded her. He stared at his palms, wondering what he had done. _Just as soon as I understand, it's gone._

_And it'll never come back._

_Just like Kathy._

"Sorry," He tried to laugh, avoiding her eyes. But she was staring at him.

And he was picking up the bag.

And going out the door.

And walking away from that feeling, again.

…

Coffee. She needed coffee.

She needed _something_, something to clear her head and remind her that she was Olivia Benson, not Lauren Tracy, not his wife, not in love.

A shower. She needed another shower.

_Oh hell…_what had she _done_? She'd held his hand! HIS HAND!

It was completely insane. Moronic. What had she done that for?

_But it was right there. And he took it first…_

He was her partner. Business partner. Almost friend.

_Friend with benefits._

_NO! NOT FRIEND WITH BENEFITS!_

They'd been through a lot together, that was true. But that did not give her the right to take his hand.

Stare into his eyes.

See something there that _obviously wasn't._

_Pull yourself together, girl. This is ridiculous._

He hadn't woken up. He hadn't seen her arm lying across him, her head on his chest. He'd been completely unconscious (thank god) when she'd opened her eyes, and found her body pressed against his. She'd been in his arms. He'd been in hers.

_THIS WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN._

The pool. She'd go take a swim.

She grabbed her bathing suit, well, _Lauren Tracy's_ bathing suit, and headed downstairs.

_I need to stop thinking about it. I…NEED…TO…STOP._

_Elliot probably isn't thinking about it. He's probably completely forgotten._

…

_WHAT THE FUCK DID I DO THAT FOR?_

He shoved the clothes into the dryer, slammed the door, and ignored the staring faces around him. Treating the dryer like a punch bag seemed completely plausible at the time to him.

_I held her hand. I held her hand. I HELD HER HAND!_

And on top of that, he stared into her eyes. Like_ stare_ stare. Like _intense longing_ stare.

Jesus, he had completely screwed himself.

Everything was going fine. They'd gotten the call from Cragen. The case was going smooth as silk.

_And then…_

What had he done last night? He'd joined her. Sleeping. In bed.

Together.

Clothes on, yes. On top of the sheets, yes. No unnecessary touching, yes.

BUT STILL.

_And then the hand…and the staring…and the prom._

She probably hated him. She probably thought he was trying to seduce her. She probably thought he was a man-whore looking for a rebound girl and found her suddenly convenient.

_Damn._

Was he a man-whore looking for a rebound girl and had found her suddenly convenient?

No. Absolutely not. Now he was just plain insane.

He'd known her too long. They'd had a comfortable relationship for way too many years. He was with her more than his wife.

_Jesus Kathy, what did you say that night? Married to my work? Work affair? Something like that…_

"You stressed out?"

He turned at the sound of a female voice, saw the tall blonde standing beside him, neatly trimmed eyebrow raised as she carefully placed her clothing into the dryer beside his.

"Is it obvious?"

"I don't normally try to beat up my appliances, but that's just me."

She was a tourist, too. At least he figured the locals didn't wear their Chanel to sleep.

"A little pressure, yes." He stared at the spinning clothing before him. His head was starting to hurt.

"Well, I know a great place to relax." Her smile was suddenly very…suggestive.

He stared at her, eyes widening. _Whoa._ She was flirting with him.

He was single. He had every right to enjoy the flirt and return it.

So why did it feel so wrong?

"Busy." He said quickly, turning back to the dryer.

"Alright, whatever you say."

The dryer before him buzzed, and he opened it up, pulling out a plaid wad.

"Nice boxers." She gave him another suggestive grin, narrowing her eyes and nodding at the clothing in his hand.

"Yeah…well…" He dug through the laundry until he had found what he wanted. "She thinks so too." He said, pulling out Olivia's black bra and lifting it up with a flourish.

"I see." The woman looked suddenly unhappy, frowning at her clothing.

He pulled out a black lacy slip, another black bra, folding them with large movements of his hands. "My wife and I are staying at the spa. It's definitely going to relieve some of this tension."

"Right." She pulled out her clothing, threw it into a basket, and stomped away, throwing him a huffed frown over her shoulder.

He grinned at the bra in his hand.

Until he realized who it belonged to.

_HANDLING OF UNDERGARMENTS._

_NOT GOOD._

He was touching her bra. He was holding it up. He was even looking it over as though he were interested in whatever occupied it.

_Oh christ…_


	7. Advice

**thank you, my frumpalicious dears! 60-something comments? holy frick. I hit the wall. Xx good ouch.**

**concerning the clash lyrics and to all who contributed their help: it is "oh mi corazon", and after six years of Spanish I am proud to say that it means "oh my heart." I don't exactly pay premiere attention in that class (thus the drawings of various mischief around my Spanish notebook) but Enrique Iglesias has taught me a thing or too about romance. thank you, Mr. Hotness, you can be my hero again, baby. **

**everyone who has expressed a problem with fin's giggling: of course he wouldn't, sillies! but wouldn't it be funny if he DID? munch and fin are my merry and pippin, so expect random fun from the precinct. cragen, the ever-pissed one, is attempting to hold the fort, but as we all know, it will get out of his hands pretty soon.**

**RESEARCH PAPER OVER! Tolstoy can now return to the fiery depths of hell in which he resides, because guess what? I don't give a crap about his views of morality anymore! (not like I did before anyway…) **

**I am out again today with a virus (not strep throat after all- viral throat thing that has no treatment-whoopeedoo, another fun day) so I will be writing some more. and watching treasure planet, randomly. **

**for everyone wondering but not sure if they should ask: yes, I am making this up as I go along. (just like Indiana Jones, ha!) in other words, I write a chapter, I post it, I really don't know what's going to happen next. I have a pretty general idea about how this is going to end, considering I intend to end it (after like 20 chapters, of course…jesus, like I would put you people through short story misery after all your luff) but no, I have no idea who is going to do what with who the next chapter. **

**I can promise you this: there will be a kiss, there will be…hem-hem, _more, _there will be some serious danger, and Munch and Fin will eventually resolve their bet. there is going to be a twist at the end, one you absolutely (I swear) did not see coming.**

**now, aren't you so excited? (random note: good god, my little author's notes are becoming longer than the chapters) happy chapter-devouring!**

_HOW COULD IT BE CLOSED?_

What about the Olympic swimmers who had to train every morning? What about the people who were trying to lose weight? How could they keep a pool closed until eleven every freaking morning?

Did the lifeguard have narcolepsy?

She rested her head on the clear door, staring at the chlorine-smelling waters beyond. _Just a few laps…that's all. Not an hour. Not even a half hour. Just ten minutes to soak my head and let this whole thing sort of…float on by._

She needed a new plan.

_Oh hell…_

Ohio sounded nice right now. Lauren Tracy sounded nice right now. Lauren-Tracy-who-had-every-right-to-hold-her-husband's-hand sounded perfectly delicious right now, but the fact was that she was not Lauren Tracy.

She was Olivia Benson. She was not in love.

She was just being very…_awkward…_ today.

She collapsed on the couch in the lobby, staring out the window at the slow drizzle. There goes that beautiful snow everyone talked about. The groundhog was obviously not sober this year.

"-butmom! Why can't we go outside?"

"Because it is freezing and you'll catch a cold and I said so."

She looked up at the little boy struggling against his mother's grip, short legs flailing in his snowsuit. His mother's face, strained, determined, bent over to kiss him on the forehead, and he immediately pacified in her arms.

"You can't catch the common cold from the cold, mom. But the dinosaurs died because the snow all froze them into popsicles." Another boy said, running up behind them. "If you go outside in the snow, your boogers freeze. Christopher Welshman said so."

"I wanna see my boogers freeze!" The littlest one shouted, pulling out of his mother's arms again and making a mad dash to the doors. His mother caught him by the hand before he could push through though, and handed him to the man now coming through the doors.

"Daddy's going to take you and Xavier out for ice cream, Harry. Does that sound alright?"

The little boy's eyes lit up, and he scampered out the door after his father, Xavier trailing not far behind, explaining another one of Christopher Welshman's brilliant theories.

His mother retreated to the couches in the lobby, collapsing into a chair and letting out a long sigh.

"Children," She said, laughing and turning to Olivia. "Emotional roller coasters, right?"

"Close enough." Olivia said, smiling politely. _Oh god, let's not talk about kids. We'll talk about kids, and we'll talk about Lauren Tracy's son, which will remind me of Daniel Tracy, which will remind of Elliot, which will remind of the hand-_

"You have any?"

"My son is nine." Olivia bit her lip, managing a smile. _NOT…CONCEIVED…WITH…DANIEL/ELLIOT…_

"Then you know exactly what I'm talking about: from tantrums to giggles in less than a second."

"Taylor isn't so bad. Sometimes he gets a bit cranky, but most of the time he's just a well-behaved kid." _Well, this isn't so bad. Just mention something parental and this show is on the road._

"Wait until you have more."

"I don't know about that…" Olivia bit her lip. _Seeing as we can't get beyond holding hands without complete awkwardness, any possible children fathered by him are extremely unlikely. _

"Oh, you'd be surprised. Mike and I thought we'd only have one, but sooner or later, things just happen…" _Got that right, honey. _The woman smiled, and Olivia returned the grin. "Are you here with your family?"

"Honeymoon, actually. I just got married again." She chanced a glance around the room, seeing if anyone had noticed. But no curious expressions met her eyes, so she looked back at the woman, still smiling.

"Wow, that's great! Congratulations! So, this guy's the one, right?"

Olivia stared at her hands, stared at the palm he had touched, the fingers he had grasped, if only for a minute. There had been so many…but none of them had been…

_You want to come up to my apartment?_

_Sure, Frank._

She'd known what would happen. She'd wanted it. It had been a long week, a lonely week; what else was she supposed to fall back on? And then she'd met him at the bar. She'd talked with him every night.

He had been so kind, so gentle. Frank, he said. Frank, who worked downtown. Frank, who owned a business. Frank who was single, who thought she looked pretty tonight. He hadn't prodded her with questions. He'd hardly blinked an eye when she'd told him where she worked. It was like he understood what she needed, why she needed it.

_Just one night. Just one night to feel safe._

Yes, they'd slept together. Yes, she'd been completely (well, _almost_ completely) sober at the time. They'd had a few more drinks on his couch, and then they'd headed to the bedroom. Something hadn't felt right, but she'd ignored it.

For a few hours, she was able to put the past behind her. Being attacked on her way home. How Elliot called her every night, how he'd hurried to her apartment. The way he'd looked at her, how safe she felt. All that week, she'd known he was with her. Ever since the night he'd shown up at her door, helping her home with her black eye and her bruised body. Laid her on the couch and stayed by her all night. And yet…

He'd gone home to Kathy. A family. A wife.

She was the other woman, the business partner, the desk partner. He could tuck her in and bandage her wounds, but he couldn't hold her like he did his wife. First off, he was married. Secondly, there was a law against it.

Illegal. Love. That was everything she felt, and everything was wrong.

That night in Frank's arms, she'd let go of emotion. Almost forgotten what she'd felt when Elliot had held her hand that night. Almost released that last vision of him when he found her bleeding on her doorstep, tears in his eyes. Tears for her.

_Elliot. _

In that last moment of passion, as Frank finally tightened in her grip and her body began to break to ecstasy, nails digging into his back, legs curling around him, she had said her partner's name.

_What? _And Frank had let go. He'd pulled away. He'd dropped his hands from her shoulders, removed his lips from her neck.

He'd gone to other room and left her there- naked, cold, alone in a stranger's bed, beneath a stranger's sheets.

His name still on her tongue, tasting like fresh water on her lips.

She left without seeing him again. She pulled on her clothes, found her jacket by the bed, and walked out the apartment door.

"So is he the one?" The woman's voice brought her back to the present. She stared up into warm blue eyes, a calm smile.

"Yeah…" She brushed back the moisture in her eyes. "Yeah, he's the one."

…

A bar. What was he doing at a bar?

_How many drinks have I had?_

His head felt like someone had been beating on it with used car parts.

The glass in his hand felt all too familiar. Never good.

_Probably more than I should have._

He stared at his watch. An hour ago he was at the laundromat. He would just say…well…he ran out of detergent.

Yeah.

Right.

"You want another refill?" The bartender gave him a yellowing grin. Elliot shook his head.

"I think I fell asleep."

"Well, you did close your eyes a little while back, but I just thought you were staring at the television. Some game, huh?"

"Steelers kicked your Seahawks' ass, Mack!" A man down the bar said, laughing.

"That was three days ago, Bill!" The bartender growled, snapping his drying towel at the man's head. "Sure you don't want something else to drink?" The man asked, turning to Elliot again.

"That depends on how strong your liquor is."

"I see," The man raised a steel grey eyebrow, rubbing his beard thoughtfully. "You drinkin' off something big?"

"You might say that." Elliot had not thought about "the hand incident" for an hour now. Recalling it was like a kick in the pants.

"Lose money?"

"Hope not."

"Get in a fight?"

"Not really."

"Woman problems?"

"Now that sounds about right."

"Ah…" The old man leaned back, taking Elliot in with observant brown eyes. "Had a fight with her?"

"Hardly."

"So it went the opposite way?"

"Yes," He took a long swig of his glass, finishing off the beer. "Yes, it certainly did."

"And she's not your woman _exactly_, am I right?"

"That's correct."

"So you're in love with someone who doesn't belong to you?"

"I wouldn't say I'm 'in love,' but…"

"So you're unaffectionate bedfellows?" The man raised his eyebrow again, giving Elliot a disbelieving frown.

"We never slept together, okay?" Elliot said, slamming down the glass. "I just held her hand, and lay next to her, but I never had sex with her!"

"Alright, alright, young fellow, no harm was intended." The old man bit his lip, still frowning. "So what are you going to do about this problem?"

"I have no idea. I think that's why I'm sitting here drinking my cognitive brain cells away."

"I'll tell you what," The old man handed him a cup of coffee. "We're going to sober you up, and then we're going to solve your woman troubles."

"That sounds very inviting."

But the bar was so nice and soft and he wanted to…go…to…sleep…

"Don't doze off on me, lad!" Finger snapped in his face. "You have to face your problems, not drink them away."

"Thank you, Mr. Bartender."

_Pretty…pink…bird…_

_Oh hell…I'm…very…drunk…_

_Birdy…_

"Do you love her?"

_Olivia…_

_She has those brown eyes. And she's so warm…_

"I asked you a question, lad!"

_She let me lay with her last night…and she held my hand…_

_And that one time…she kissed me…_

_She kissed…me…_

"I think he's asleep, Mack."

"Shut up, Bill!"

_Kathy told the counselor…told Ms. Henderson…told her I was…_

_She thought I was having an affair…_

_Who?_

_Why was I having an affair?_

_I wasn't…but I…_

_I loved her…even when…_

"Damn it boy, do you love the girl?"

"Yes."

His head hit the hard wood paneling of the bar. _Son of a bitch. _

**author's secondary notice: please forgive elliot's drunken rambling. he can be a bit wiggedy-wack when he is stoned.**

**and to whoever is making the "woman troubles" jokes, ha ha. we are all amused.**


	8. Obstructed

**thank you, my grannies, for the get-well-and-such wishes. I returned to school today, so I suppose (in some twisted way) that is a good thing. unfortunately, a mildly pleasant ski race followed, leaving my throat in flames, and a surly mood for those around me. the only good part was the invention of "the dirty game", a game in which players reveal their ultimately dirtiest thoughts in no time at all. we soon had dozens of girls screaming about the male apparatus by the end of the day, and were hurried out of the main lodge by caring fellow students before someone official ordered us out.**

**other (twisted, yes I know) good news. I have begun middle-ground work on non-fanfiction fiction. if any of you are interested in reading this, contact me by way of PM, or visit my LJ (aka my homepage) and politely wait for me to post it there. I have two currently: a fantasy in imperial Russian-like setting involving warrior monk and the woman he guards, the tsarina (hem-hem, cue hanky-panky forbidden love storyline) and a current sort of teenage fiction called 'Liar.' about growing up and how it sucks. booyah.**

**today's frustrations: anyone else miss abby/carter on e.r.? luka is cute, yes, but he is not carter. abby/carter was fun. abby/carter was good. abby/carter made me watch e.r. even when george Clooney had scarred it with his large ego-ness. but now…very discouraging.**

**today's opportunistic hope seeds: currently reading 'Founding Hogwarts' at fictionalley. absolutely brilliant. it's about the twenty-something Hogwarts founders attempting to...well…found the place. only Godric is a bit of a dumb jock, and Helga has a horrid crush on him, Salazar is a rich (very sexy) git, and Rowena is having far too much fun maintaining lots of sexual tension with him. including encountering each other while half-naked, lots of angry dueling on future-Hogwarts grounds, avoiding each other to the point of physical pain, and then getting wasted and having a 'ripe old time' over holidays. it's really really great stuff, especially since I am a very big Rowena Ravenclaw fan. (does her Ravenclaw cheer)**

**today's questionable wonderings: is elliot's son dickie named for dick wolf? I bet he is. that egotistical maniac probably slathered his name and his friends' names all over the damned shows.**

**today's random fact: the guiness book of world records holds the record for the book stolen the most times from the library.**

**yes, your day is truly complete now that you have that brilliant piece of information. **

**no one panic. I changed my toothbrush. what would my sanitary state be like without you guys?**

**fly my pretties, fly! (oh…and read…)**

**P.S.- I am gathering a large amount of people who like my author's notes. well, if you like them so very durned much, I would recommend reading my livejournal (its mah homepage in mah profile, dawgs). it is pretty much the same thing as my author's notes, only slightly more interesting. (and humorous!) yes, these do include my menstrual rants (only once a month, lucky for you) my emotional breakdowns, and my sarcasm (cue trademark copyright) but I need a flist. you all seem like you'd make a good flist. join livejournal if you want, or just read my lj. you will not regret it. you will get to laugh at least four times a week and not when reading this story (which is about to get very dark and moody anyway…MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! POWER TO THE TEENAGE-ANGST-RIDDEN AUTHOR!)**

Wool. All over him.

It was his first sensation after what seemed like three very long years in a painfully swirling vortex of drunken darkness.

_Sheep. They've invaded and are now attaching themselves to my body._

_And banging metallic objects with silver spoons in my ears, and hitting my forehead with cannons, and making the world spin._

He sighed, his hand going over his throbbing eyes. _Or I'm just having a pleasant little hangover._

Yes, it was definitely the latter.

He'd gone to the bar. That he knew for certain. He had somehow stumbled home, and ended up back here in the hotel room.

Which would mean he drove home while utterly intoxicated. Not a good idea, even for a cop.

He remembered hitting the couch like a rock and sort of sprawling across its length before shutting his eyes.

He remembered falling deeply asleep despite the pain in his head.

But he could not remember moving from the couch to the bed. Nor losing his clothes.

_**OH MY FUCKING GOD! MY CLOTHES!**_

_Jesus fucking Christ! _Where were his clothes? Why had he removed them? And worst of all…

Where was Olivia?

_Oh shit, this is NOT good._

He sat up immediately, though he soon regretted it.

"Damn…headache…" Puking in the bathtub sounded really nice right now.

What had he done at the bar? _Oh no… _He'd said he loved her. He'd said he'd loved Olivia. And then he'd fallen into the drunken stupor that only comes from really REALLY trying.

But what had happened after? Why had he come back? Who had taken him back?

_**AND WHERE THE HELL ARE MY CLOTHES?**_

As long as they hadn't…hadn't…_oh jesus. _

He couldn't go off having sex with Olivia. They were partners. Sure, they were close. He would do a lot of things for her, including put his life on the line for her sake. But that came from a long relationship, er, _friendship, _not a romantic thing.

_There is no way we did it._

How could there be? He didn't love her. Not like _that_, at least.

_But I said it._

_Did I mean it?_

_Did I…_

_Do I…_

_Oh hell…_

He tried to open his eyes again. Despite the blinding effect, he searched the room for any signs of discarded clothing.

_My clothing is nowhere to be seen._

_And neither is hers._

This didn't mean they did anything…different.

It just meant he came home, completely undressed himself, fell into a drunken sleep, and woke up here. And Olivia had not come back yet from her…well…whatever it was she was doing.

Yeah, that was plausible.

_Oh hell, who am I kidding?_

All it takes is one time. One time, and then your whole relationship goes down the drain. You can't be partners anymore. You can't interact the same way. You can't look at her without seeing a bare body against your own, and you can't help but be awkward. Even Huang, who was as sexual as…well…a rock, would notice the tension there.

And then they'd send one of them away.

It was the law. He couldn't break the law.

_Alaska sounds nice this time of year. I could really go for Alaska._

_Or Hawaii._

_Or Thailand, maybe._

But then you'd remember her. And you wouldn't be able to live without her.

_Jesus, why did it have to be this way?_

But wait. What was he saying? There was no proof yet. He had no way of knowing they actually did something, if anything. He was jumping to conclusions.

He was just in the middle of a massive hangover.

Olivia had not seen him since this morning.

He did not remove his clothes for any sexual relations.

So why did he remove his clothes?

_I am so confused._

Well, no matter what the situation, he did need to put something on his body before he gave a chambermaid a heart attack. A bathrobe lay across the end of the bed, so he pulled it over his shoulder, shivering in the cold that hit him once he stood up.

_Headache, headache, headache._

He groaned in pain, barely reaching the door.

_I am such a moron. Why do I bring this upon myself?_

_Why do I bring anything like this on myself?_

He opened the door. She was there on the couch, reading the paper.

_Everything I've done…it's been for that woman._

"Good morning, sunshine." She grinned up at him. "Are you out of the shower yet?"

"Shower?" He squinted in the daylight streaming through the windows behind her.

"Yes, shower. That's what you were doing when I came back."

He felt his hair, what little of it he had left. Wet.

He felt his skin. Damp.

Thus the lack of clothes.

_Thank you **god**…_

"Oh…" He tried not to smile too widely. For one thing, he would look like an idiot. For another, his face hurt like hell. "Yeah. I'm out of the shower."

"So are we ready to go then?"

"Go where?"

"We have a massage in five minutes. I told you this like a half hour ago."

"Was I passed out on the couch at the time?"

"No, you were wide awake, and I told you to take a shower."

"And I obeyed?"

"You always do. You're my man-slave, recall?" She raised a playful eyebrow, grinning at his choice for attire. "So you're just going to wear the robe?"

"It's a massage, right? I thought you went commando anyway."

"I suppose…"

_What does she find so amusing about all of this?_

"Well, let's go then. I need to lie down, and very soon." _Because if I don't, my head will split in two and my stomach will empty itself on our nice green carpet._

…

She stepped into the sweet smelling water, thrilled by the warmth against her skin, smiling at the fragrance entering her nostrils. When was the last time she had taken a relaxing bath?

Months? Years?

_Not since I took the job._

A very long time.

And after everything that had happened this morning, the best thing for her right now was something relaxing. Had she been at home, a long nap and cupboard foraging would do, but this was a much better alternative.

Elliot had apparently found his own method for stress relief. He was absolutely drunk when she came back to the room, and completely drunk until she forced him to take a shower. He had complied, more willingly than had he been sober.

Showers will cure the more rotten effects of a hangover, as long as they are cold. This she knew from experience.

She'd washed all of the dishes that she could find twice while he was in there.

But what he had said to her, raving drunk as he was…

_Olivia?_

_Get up, Elliot. You need to get yourself into the shower._

_Olivia, I…I think I have to say something to you._

_Not with all the alcohol on your breath, buddy._

_No, really…I…I wanted to tell you…_

She'd shoved him into the bedroom, but he'd turned around and grabbed her arm. His touch was so strong, but so tender…

_Olivia, I have not been completely honest with you._

She said nothing. There was no longer the look of a drunken man in his eyes.

_I want it to change between us. I want something more…_

And then he'd gone back to talking about flamingos and the very loud music.

But she'd remembered, even if he hadn't.

She'd remembered that look in his eyes.

_Pull yourself together, Olivia. He's not technically divorced yet. He's your business partner. He's not interested._

_And he was not sober._

But she remembered his eyes.

_Oh well…_

She looked around her, at the water bubbling gently in the bath, built into the marble floor. Large windows before her overlooked a frozen pond, snow falling gently on it. The rain had given up and the snow had returned, slowly but surely.

Her bare legs rose up through the water, and she rested her hands on them, sighing. The woman had offered a warm trip in the spa baths before the massage, and she had gladly taken her up on it. But if Elliot should come along…

They thought he was her husband. Husbands must be pretty well accustomed to seeing their wives naked. But the exchange of glances between one nude cop to the other was not always a romantic thing. Nor appropriate. Nor legal, really.

No, she was glad he'd showered before.

_Or maybe I'm not…maybe it'd be better if he-_

She stopped herself with a sharp intake of breath.

_OH GOD OLIVIA! DO NOT THINK OF THIS MAN AS SITTING HERE NAKED IN A HOT TUB WITH YOU!_

That was all she needed. That in her head for the rest of her life. Him…like _that_…beside _her…_

The little voice inside her head, the one that normally said 'DON'T DO DECAF!' when she got up in the morning, was now screaming 'HE MUST BE REALLY RIPPED AFTER ALL THAT WORKING OUT!'

She ignored it and willed herself to listen to the modesty voice instead.

_We're not like that._

_We're not married._

_This is all just a job._

_It's only pretend, after all._

_Only…pretend._

She stared at the snow, wishing she were laying out in it. Wishing it could hide her from the rest of the world.

Elliot was not the only one she feared seeing her in this guise.

…

They'd separated him from her when they'd entered, a male masseuse taking him one way, and a woman taking her the other. He wanted to be with her somehow.

He didn't even know why.

But he'd felt horrible when she'd left.

_Enough of this, El. Pull your brainless bonehead together. _

The masseuse's name was Raquel. Elliot had spent all of his life thinking that was a girl's name.

But it apparently worked for masseuses, too.

"So, is your honeymoon going well?" Raquel was extremely friendly. Unfortunately.

"Yeah, it's going great."

"Done anything romantic?"

"Beside the whole…" _I can't believe I'm going to say this… " ' _wedding night thing', not really."

"Today is your lucky day, Mr. Tracy. All of our honeymooning couples have agreed that the most romantic part of their stay here was the couples massage."

…_the HELL?_

"Excuse me, did you say '_couples _massage'?"

"What else would it be?"

"I thought couples massages were for like…sex and stuff."

"The experience is very romantic and aesthetic, but not overly erotic. We allow most of the partners to do the massaging themselves."

He swallowed hard. "So I massage myself?"

_Please don't say what I think you're going to say._

Raquel laughed like a girl. Elliot now suspected Raquel-girly-name-man was gay.

"You massage your wife, Mr. Tracy!" Raquel let out a small sigh, as though completely exasperated with Elliot. "Don't worry, we'll show you how to do it. And we'll leave once things start getting underway. You'll be in our Spa Pavilion, and if you ring for the staff you can have a bath drawn for the two of you anytime."

_Me and Olivia, naked in a bathtub together. Massaging each other. Getting 'aesthetically erotic.'_

_RIGHT._

_Fat chance, Raquel. I am not flashing the family jewels in front of her, no matter how involved our massaging becomes._

They stopped, and Elliot managed to bite his lip and remove his nervous smile before Raquel spoke again.

"There she is." He said, a hand sweeping towards the doors.

Elliot turned.

And saw her.

And did not have time to prevent his jaw from dropping.

There were her brown locks, falling down behind her ears; he saw a cream colored neck, graceful as a swan's, peering out shyly beneath. He stared at her shoulders, her back, wondering at the long lines of her spine, the gentle curves of her outline. He could see nothing of embarrassment, nothing she would find offensive.

Only beauty.

"She's gorgeous, Mr. Tracy." Raquel grinned knowingly. "You are a very lucky man." Elliot could have smashed his face in.

"I know." His eyes were on her arms, now reaching behind her, dropping water down her back. So smooth and perfect. And they must have been so warm…

"Are you ready to join her?"

He reached for the sleeve of his robe, pulling it down his shoulders. Every inch of him craved her, wanted desperately to reach out to that skin glowing before him.

But then he heard the voice in his head

Reminded himself of who he was.

Who she was.

What they were.

Not what he wanted. Not what could ever be.

He pulled the robe back up his shoulder, his body aching as he stepped back from the doors.

_Guess I'm still a little woozy. I need my common sense._

He took a step down the hall, holding in the sigh he longed to let out.

"I already showered."

**author's note: I have never had a hangover. I have never had a drop of really strong alcohol in my life, thus I don't know what a hangover would be like. so I asked the king of hangovers, my dearest B.G., and he described what his feel like. he says he typically does not vomit, so anyone who is upset because there was no puke can just talk to B.G. he's been there, man. I have not. yadda yadda yadda, yoda.**


	9. Forbidden

**oh no. **

**it's happening.**

**that strange phenomena for which no scientific explanation can be found. STORY BONDING. when an author suddenly find his or herself unable to tear themselves away from a work, to the point when normal daily activity begins to occur around the subject's literary work.**

**I now listen to music and try to associate it with the story. I walk down the street and try to incorporate everything I see into the plot. I find myself muttering about character flaws throughout earth science, scribbling plotline notes on the side of my math notebook, considering possible endings as I eat dinner. I am now addicted helplessly to this story.**

**fans of the story, you may now stand up and do the wave. there is no way I am going to turn away from this now.**

**as usual, thank you for your wondrously uplifting comments. they have come in faster than myself to my robitussin. that is like speed of light, here. or speed of sound, if we want to give credit to Chris Martin, celebrated celebrity sugar daddy. **

**and now for a chapter most of you have been waiting all the live-long story for. you may begin your apprehensive bouncing in 3-2-1-GO!**

**it is a good thing I do not own these characters, or you would see a lot more of naked Olivia and Elliot.**

She lay face down on the red leather bench, head cradled in her own arms, her mind suddenly weary. She was so sick of thinking- she'd been thinking all day, no, debating with herself all day, and all she needed right now was a little rest. A little relaxation.

And nothing awkward.

She was grateful for the towel resting on anything she didn't need _him_ to see.

Not like she needed him to see her like this at all.

_All it takes is one thing- one hand-holding-thing- and everything changes. _

She was practically dozing off when the door opened, the music was turned up, and someone slid onto the bench beside her.

She covered her eyes when she heard Elliot -"Where is my towel?"-Stabler spreading himself out on the leather. Well, here was something she was sure the rest of the squad had been chuckling about for years. The two partners, Benson and Stabler, naked in a room together.

Yes, there were towels.

But _still_…

Beneath her fingers, she rolled her eyes. _Nothing awkward about this. Nope. Nothing at all._

_Oh god._ Her thoughts had become sarcastic too. Now she was _really_ hitting the middle-age pessimism thing…

"Are you two ready?" She removed her fingers, looking up at a grinning Julie, her masseuse.

Olivia chanced a glance in Elliot's direction. His fingers were over his eyes as well (_at least he's modest _) and he gave the woman a thumbs-up.

There were suddenly fingers on her shoulders. Moving fingers. Heavenly fingers.

_Wow…I am going to start going undercover way more often._

Of course, they were really screwing this whole case up anyway. First off, no honeymooning couple in their right mind would be covering their eyes right now.

She pulled her hands from around her face, placing them at her sides. She tilted her head towards him, smiling at his face. He looked like he was asleep. But having sex.

_OH JESUS, LIV! HOW ARE YOU **THINKING** THAT?_

She needed to change the subject running through her mind. She needed to remind herself of the current situation.

This wasn't awkward. They were married. This was…perfectly normal. And romantic.

Who would have thought?

"Don't doze off on me, Dan." She said, staring at his relaxed face. It took him a second to respond, as though he too had forgotten his current identity, and he opened his eyes shyly, blinking at her.

"Just enjoying myself." He said, winking at her. She smiled back, letting out a sigh as the hands reached the small of her back.

"Don't worry." Julie said, "We'll let you two experiment yourself in a few minutes."

_With what? Sex?_

She tried not to shudder. That wasn't dirty or anything…

_Yeah fucking right, lady._

Hard as she tired not to, Olivia did end up falling asleep. When she awoke fifteen minutes later, a pleasant dream involving herself and bathing in a vat of melted chocolate suddenly over, Julie was speaking softly in her ear.

"If I were you, I'd go for his shoulders first. He looks really tense."

"What?" She opened her eyes, turning to the blonde woman beside her, smiling pleasantly.

"I heated up a bath for you in the next room. You two are welcome to it anytime you want."

And with that, the masseuses were gone.

_Oh, this is just not good._

She was alone in the room with him. She was naked. He was naked.

There towels, yes, she knew, but still…

Naked.

When she turned to him, he was wearing a robe. _Oh, thank heavens…_

"Well, that was the best thing I have had done to me in a number of years."

"Better than sex?"

_Did I just say that?_

"Oh yeah…" He grinned, and then blushed. She was still naked. She still had a towel across her behind, but all the same…

"Turn away, will you?" She stood up once she knew he was looking away, and quickly slipped into the robe hanging beside her bench.

"Can I look now?" He asked, his hands over his eyes as he stood in the corner.

"Yes, fine." She sat down on the edge of the bench, eyeing the stereos in the corners of the room. The romantic jazz was not helping lighten the mood anymore. And through the door to her right, a hot bath…well, this was _definitely_ going to be the hardest case she had ever worked on.

Elliot sat across from her, staring at his toes, which he wiggled impatiently. "This isn't weird or anything…" He said softly, examining his hand.

"I know," She tried to laugh. She could not. "I hope they're not watching through some secret window or something."

"If they are, we could probably bust them for it."

She tried to laugh again. No go. "And at least we wouldn't have to be the Tracy's anymore."

"What? You don't like being richer and happier?"

"It's just a little hard to…adjust."

"Marriage is like that."

She looked up at him, and saw he was staring at her, no longer interested in his appendages.

"What happened?" She asked, looking into the cool expression in his eyes.

"What do you mean?"

"What happened with you and Kathy?"

She saw his eyes darken, his brows furrow. _Way to go Olivia, push just the right button and you get to turn on the Elliot-Beast Version 2.0._

"The separation…well-"

"No. Not that. You never told me how you two got together."

"I'm pretty sure I did."

"No, you didn't."

"I did." He said, folding his arms across his chest.

She rolled her eyes. "No, you did not. Trust me."

"I do." He stared at her, something strange in his expression. Her comeback was stifled for a moment, and she found herself enamored by his eyes, by the way his lips had formed the words. "I don't remember the first time I saw her. I don't even remember where our first date was. But I remember loving her."

"How did you know you were going to marry her?"

"I didn't. She said she was pregnant. I hadn't even known her for three months yet. But what was I supposed to do, leave her? Forget her?"

"Oh, right." She had known that. _Why did I ask that question? Why did I even bring this completely moronic subject up? I am only asking for trouble here!_

"It happens too fast sometimes. I think that's how it goes with a lot of relationships. One minute you want to meet her, the next minute you're married. But other relationships…I guess they're more like a slow thaw."

_Like ours._

She bit her lip.

_OR NOT! WHERE DID THAT COME FROM!_

But she saw his face. She did not stop him from continuing, from pouring out everything he must have kept inside for so long. She was glad she was here, able to listen, able to know he had confided something in her. She was glad it was her that he had chosen.

"I guess this whole lifestyle didn't agree with us. We couldn't get along anymore. Nothing was working out. All the loose ends we'd meant to tie up someday…they just kept getting longer and farther apart. The differences we'd once only acknowledged were becoming these huge crevices in our relationship. And this job…god, I don't know what it was. But there was just something about it. She always hated it. But the last year, oh…she loathed it. And you know how I am- I become the job sometimes. So she started to hate me, I think. And then she started coming up with excuses, accusation. She even said…" He stopped, looking up at her. Olivia cocked her head, narrowing her eyes at him.

"What?"

"We got a marriage counselor." He continued as though he had not heard her. "I guess she thought that would fix everything, because when nothing new happened, she just got more upset. It made it worse in a way, because things that were better left unsaid before suddenly had to be voiced, and suddenly there were more things to get angry at each other for. And she was always telling the woman something, always continuing some conversation I was not originally a part of. We'd go there and sit down, and it was like they'd pick up where they left off. I just sat there and talked when they told me to. If anything, it just made me feel worse about it. About coming. About having a reason to be here. She was here to solve her problems. I was just one of them."

"You did the right thing, looking for help." It was all she could say. She reached out, took his hand. She grasped fingers she had once winced at, fingers she had been regretting all day. He did not pull away. "And after everything, if you still couldn't work out, I guess something really is wrong. Maybe you just need to take a little break from it from a while, and then come back…"

She could never see Kathy and Elliot together again. Not after the horror stories he'd once confided to her over lunch break, about the fights and the curses, the hatred between them. How could they mend it?

And now that she thought about it, did she, Olivia Benson, want them back together?

_Of course I do. I want him in a happy marriage. I want them to be happy together again, just like before. Just like how it used to be. When they were a family._

_When I was lonely. When I was going through men like Kleenex._

_And then digging through the garbage to pull them back out one by one again._

"I don't know what's going to happen, you know?" He said quietly, his eyes now back on his hands. "We haven't spoken in a few weeks, except to exchange the paperwork. We tried talking. We tried giving each other second chances, tried taking breaks, tried every option they gave us. But where do you go when nothing else works?"

"Somewhere else." She said it before she could stop herself. He was looking up at her, that strange expression in his eyes again.

He moved forward. She blinked at him, suddenly unaware of her surroundings.

He was standing before her, his powerful figure taking up every essence of her being. His hands were on her shoulders. She waited, she held her breath, she did not close her eyes.

And then he bent over.

And placed his head beside hers.

And said: "Thank you."

It was over. Nothing. She'd expected something. But what? She hadn't…no, she was just…what was going on?

"Anytime." She tried to give him a smile.

"You want to get back to work?" He asked, still standing.

"I'd be glad to."

"Then lie down on the table."

She stared at him, her eyes widening.

"You heard me, Lauren Tracy. On the table." He gave her a stern glance, though it was accompanied by a grin.

Before she could say something, before she could even think, she had already moved to the table, settled on it, and rested her chin in her arms.

_Stop! Get up! Don't start this!_

_Because you won't be able to stop._

She closed her eyes. His hand went to the back collar of her robe, slipping it down over her right shoulder, then her left. She felt the smooth warmth of his fingertips gracing her skin, sending sparks through her body. His touch was like lightning, striking her body with deadly accuracy.

So slowly, so very slowly, he was pressing his hands against her back, now bared before him. He was kneading her shoulders, running his hands across her as though impassioned. She arched her back against him, giving in to the excited feeling growing in her chest. The primal nerves in her belly. The warmth growing in her head.

"How am I doing?" He asked, his voice so normal, so different from the emotion his hands were now spreading.

"Heavenly." She whispered, barely able to speak above the emotional rush in her ears.

And while his hands were moving, his breath was growing closer to her skin. She felt it against the back of her neck, growing warmer.

And before she could do anything, he was there.

He was everywhere.

His mouth was touching her neck, his lips moving across her skin. Everything that had once tingled lightly was now bursting with feeling, emotions colliding with passion and then shooting everywhere and between. She turned onto her side, and felt his knee on the bench now, pressed against her leg.

She pulled him in so that his lips were on her neck, her cheek, her chin. She pulled herself up into him until their mouths were united in harmonic bliss, and then let him pull on her bottom lip, toy with her upper lip, tease every muscle of her face with his tongue, now touching the roof of her mouth.

It had never felt so good to kiss a man. It had never felt so wonderful to feel a mouth against her own, tasting lips that existed only in dreams. She realized in that moment how much she had craved, how all of these years she had not been fooling herself. She really had wanted him. She really had imagined him so many times when another man had shared his bed.

And now he was here.

_Elliot._

_Elliot._

_**ELLIOT!**_

She pulled away, her eyes widening in shock. "No!" She screamed, pushing his body from hers. "No, no, no!"

He stared in confusion, something like pain in his eyes.

She realized her chest was bare and covered it with her arms, pulling the towel across her waist.

_No no no no no no no no no no…_

"I don't…" He continued to stare, his hand held limply before him as though wounded. "I don't understand…"

"Please Elliot…" Oh god. She was crying. She was actually crying. And she was naked. And _he was here._ She had kissed him. She had held him there. She'd pressed her bare chest against him. Bare chest. Breasts. _Boobs._ She'd touched him with them. She let his lips…_oh fuck. Oh fuck fuck fuck._

And now the crying was sobbing. She was sobbing naked on a leather bench, and he was standing there, frozen except for the occasional sharp intakes of breath. The sobbing shook her body, her naked body, and she collapsed across the bench, curling into a protective position.

He reached out his hand as though to touch her, and then drew away.

"Olivia…"

"No." She cried, tears falling into her mouth, salt on a tongue that had once touched his. "Elliot, we can't…we shouldn't have…"

"But we did."

She looked up at him, pushing the hair from her face. He pulled the robe onto her shoulders, and she still lay there, frozen, numb.

"I can't do this, Elliot. I can't go through all of…all of _this_."

"All of what?"

"This…this relationship thing. You're…you're still married, Elliot. You still are. That makes me 'the other woman.' We can't do this. We can't be…guilty."

He said nothing. She tried to stop crying. She could not. If anything, her sobbing worsened.

"I don't know what just happened. But we can't let it happen again. We can't just…_do_ something like that. Never again."

He remained silent. He moved towards the door. She took a deep breath.

She stared at her hands.

She sniffed.

She looked up, and she followed him out the door and back to their room.

And neither said a word.


	10. The Author Speaks

**everyone angry at Olivia needs to calm down. she had to be sheltered from your strong denouncements and hidden in my closet. she does not like it in there, but what am I supposed to do? release her into this angry world? naked? with a towel, but STILL?**

**and guess what? Eldarion, Jeremy Sumpter, Freddie Highmore, and Roy Langdon are getting very crowded in my closet. they do not need a half naked woman in there anymore than I need fingernails. I had to let Milo go, and do you know what that's LIKE! his mom only dresses him in cow outfits and shows him off. I actually CARED about him.**

**rant over with. thank you for the comments anyhow. you are all wonderful people. you know that. I've told you all far too many times for your own good. yet I am a bitch, I know, and frustrating you shall be only the beginning. how are we going to get these two in bed with all this angst? well, I still have a few tricks up my sleeves.**

**however, I am taking a small hiatus from this story. everyone has been screaming: 'UPDATE SOON!' but really, I am updating as fast as I physically and mentally can. I have been out sick for a few days and really really need to address some make-up work.**

**by hiatus, I mean possibly a few hours and/or one day. I think you can all survive one day without my chapters. I really hope you can. I hope I have not gotten anyone physically addicted to this, or I would be eligible for all sorts of medical lawsuits with complicated legal terms. **

**however (again), if you all protest loudly enough, I just might post the next chapter tonight. who knows? I haven't even written it yet, but if I get time and feel as though not posting would be cruel compared to your cries of displeasure, I will put it up. **


	11. Retreat

**hiatus over. your cries are becoming too pitiful to bear. ((and threats of stalking (!) - well, we can't have that, can we?)) besides, I have not had a truly decent cliffhanger in this story, and it is about time I gave you all something to work your imaginations out on. I am not talking about last chapter. I mean this one. **

**thanks (to most of you) for understanding why Olivia did that. have any of you watched the show lately? I was watching it last Tuesday and was like: 'yeah, Elliot tries that shit and she is not going to take it well.' maybe at first she'd get into it, but you know her conscience is way too overpowering to let her just get sexing with him. Olivia is the sensible one. Elliot is the 'take-chances-make-mistakes-get-messy!' (magic school bus much?) one. **

**besides, you will all get your sex fixes soon enough. I am feeling very romantic. Sting and Enrique are playing in my wmp, and they are filling my head with thoughts of desert roses and divine rhythms. if Enrique suddenly kissed my neck, I think I would just let it go, towel and all. but I am not Olivia…who is by the way now gone.**

**ELLIOT: return her to me or die.**

**ME: no. bitch.**

**ELLIOT: I will kill your dog.**

**ME: I am calling a lawyer.**

**ALEX: Kate, I can't solve your legal issues anymore. I'm undercover in Iowa! My name is like Buffy or something!**

**ME: excuses, excuses…and where the hell is casey? assembling a wardrobe malfunction or something?**

**CASEY: Kate, I can't prosecute him, I've got liek a MAJOR CRUUUUSH on him! ELLIOT N CASEY 4EVAH!**

**ME: eeew, so that's where all that fanfic comes from. **

**CASEY: Yes! I have liek an account and I liek make all sorts of stories becuz Elliot luffs me 4EVAH! RLUV$MENT2B!**

**ME: please stop. you are being really disgusting.**

**ELLIOT: yeah, really. NOW GIVE MY SEX PONY BACK!**

**ME: I will if you get off my lawn.**

**ELLIOT: whatever. (goes to sit on my mailbox)**

**ME: okay, now you can have her.**

**OLIVIA: YAY! NO MORE EASY MAC!**

**THOSE TWO: (skip off to Manhattan hand in hand)**

**Cragen of course shows up hours later looking for them, disturbing my lunch.**

**CRAGEN: are you-know-who and you-know-who still here?**

**ME: No, they ran away to you-know-where a few hours ago.**

**CRAGEN: (grumble-grumble) don't be a smartass.**

**ME: bitch, RAVENCLAW. and why are you wearing elrond's pizza hat?**

**CRAGEN: (grumble-twitch-stalk away)**

**and then Elrond shows up at like ten o clock at night and wakes up everyone ringing my doorbell. I answer the door, because my mom and dad and sister are pissed as hell.**

**ME: what the frick are you doing here?**

**ELROND: why are you not in your box in Rivendell?**

**ME: I have a life outside of my AU, thank you very much. why are you not in your palace in Rivendell?**

**ELROND: Arwen kicked me out. she and Aragorn made it into their love nest. sexcapades everywhere. I feel violated just walking under the windows.**

**ME: yuh-huh (rolling eyes)**

**ELROND: have you seen cragen?**

**ME: yes, and he's wearing your hat.**

**ELROND: I figured. it was gone when I woke up.**

**ME: (chokes)**

**ELROND: why does everyone choke when I say stuff like that?**

**ME: guy-on-guy involving you and cragen is creepy.**

**ELROND: frick off. I'm going to go look for him. **

**ME: yeah, whatever.**

**DOOR: (slams in his face)**

**so anyhow, guess who comes looking for Elrond?**

**ARWEN: where's my dad?**

**ME: (covers eyes) why is Aragorn doing that to your leg?**

**ARWEN: have you seen him?**

**ME: please make him stop.**

**ARWEN: (whines) WHEEEEERE ISSSSS HEEEE?**

**ME: (still covering eyes, points north) there, I'd assume.**

**ARWEN: oh, thanks.**

**ARAGORN: kate, do you have any Vaseline? **

**ME: eeew, go away NOW.**

**and then guess who comes looking for them?**

**ELDARION: weeeeee-squeeeeeeee! (where be my mummy?)**

**ME: sexing your daddy. wear your blindfold and the plastic baggies on your hands when you're in the living room next time.**

**ELDARION: Weeeeeeet! (thanks kate, you're still my favorite babysitter!)**

**ME: oh, I know it.**

**and then guess who comes looking for me?**

**MOM: it's eleven o clock at night and below zero outside and you're on our doorstep. what the heck are you doing?**

**ME: greeting people.**

**MOM: I don't see anyone.**

**ME: they were here just a second ago.**

**MOM: this is why you need a psychologist, Kate. go to bed.**

**ME: yeah, okay. off I go.**

**which brought me here, writing this. so it's all Elliot's fault. blame him for me getting off my hiatus.**

…

The television droned on, the radio blared incessantly, and Elliot sat lost in his thoughts. _Just a kiss…_

There had been things like this before. And yet there had been _nothing _like this before, nothing to hint at the passion that could overcome him so quickly. He would never have said before that something could grab his soul like that, twist his heart in half and make his fingers reach for the thing he knew was forbidden to him. Like the first of men, he'd felt the heat as his lips touched her, known then why she had been forbidden to him for so long. The power that came over him when he'd touched her neck! For so long he had fought it, and now the urge had taken over, willing his thoughts and driving his soul to places he would never have dreamed of before.

And yet Eve had suddenly stopped Adam, for she'd pulled the fruit from his lips and hidden it away, and darkness had fallen on his Eden. He longed for it more than ever, craved the soft addiction of her steady breath, the taste of her lips on his.

It was not the first time.

A summer, a summer long past when he was still afraid of her, when her gaze still brought him to his knees. The summer when everything changed; when Kathy started to draw away, when the kids stopped being happy. When the job became darker and his partner became…closer.

Baseball. Dickie's baseball game. Biggest one of the season.

He and Kathy were in the stands, watching their son, grinning and laughing. He'd had the weekend off. They were a family: suddenly, strangely. Kathy took his hand when they left the car. Lizzie was cheering her brother on. He was thinking about his other daughters, and smiling to himself.

_What is she doing here?_

He'd turned to where his wife's eyes fell, cold and unforgiving eyes. There was his partner, down below, standing beside the dugout, giving his son a high-five. They were laughing about something, and she was smiling with the coach, and she was giving Dickie a thumb-up, winking.

He'd walked to the plate and got a home run.

_I don't know, Kath. _

_Did you ask her to come?_

_No. It was nice of her to, though._

_Yes. _Kathy did not agree, contradictory to her statement.

_I'll go talk to her._

He'd stood up, feeling dizzy as he balanced on the bleachers. His eyes were on the brunette hair, brown eyes hidden by sunglasses, grinning and clapping as Dickie came back to the dugout, giving her the thumb-up.

_Hey._

She turned to him, her smile momentarily fading before she realized who he was.

_Hey Elliot, _She grinned, clapping him on the back. _That kid's got talent._

_How'd you know today was his game?_

_He asked me to come. The last time he came to the office, he told me about the game. He said I should come see him play, and I did. _She saw something in his eyes, and frowned. _Is that alright with you?_

_Of course. Kathy and I just wanted to say hi._

_Where's Kathy?_

_Saying hi._

She looked past him to the bleachers. Kathy did not wave down at her. There was an undeniable look of dissatisfaction on her face.

_Tell her I say hi back. _Olivia's frown became more pronounced. _Look, I'm sorry. I have to go._

She turned and started to leave the field, her step quickening as she neared the parking lot.

_Liv!_

He followed her, damning his sandals as his step proved slower than hers.

_Liv, wait! _

She stopped, turning to face him. She removed her sunglasses, her eyes wide and anxious.

_Elliot, I really don't want to be a problem-_

_It's not…you're not…you're not a problem to me at all._

_I don't need to drive a wedge between you and you wife, El._

_Who says you are?_

_I took Kathy's friendliness as a hint._

_Look…she doesn't know why you're here. She thinks I invited you. _He was always so honest with her. Too honest most of the time. _She's just confused._

_I'm sorry I confused her. I have to go, El._

She turned to leave. He took her arm.

_You don't have to go anywhere. Dickie will want to see you after the game._

_I have to go._

_No, Liv. Please._

She stared at him, her eyes narrowing. _Who wants me to stay, Elliot?_

_You don't need to be alone, not when you came over to have a good time with him._

_I won't be alone._

She moved closer. He took a step forward, their noses almost touching. He remembered his heart quickening, his pulse racing. She was so close, and he was so close, and there was no one around…just the trees and the cars and the pregnant silence between them…

_Will you…stay?_

_Yes._

She lifted her face to him, and kissed him. A chaste kiss, a sisterly kiss, but a kiss all the same.

His lips tingled until they were numb, and then melted.

_You're too good to me, Elliot._

_Thank Dickie._

_But Dickie didn't stop me from leaving._

_Dickie invited you._

_I know. _She smiled at him, walking back towards the field. _And his father is my dearest friend. _

Elliot let out a sigh, staring at the flowers beside the television. Friend. Dearest friend. A friend's kiss.

And today had been the lover's kiss. But they were not lovers.

They were lying inside and out.

"Elliot."

He looked up. She was standing in the doorway to the bedroom.

"Olivia." He stood up, finding her eyes, standing in awe of them. How was it she seemed to perfect herself each time they met?

"I…I just wanted to say…"

"I'm sorry." He said, blinking at her.

"I know." She stared at her hands, her arms around her chest. "I am too."

He walked to her, their eyes never parting. He could see something more in them now: a flicker of her heart, the spark of her soul.

"I thought we should…talk."

"Yeah…" He continued to stare at her. Her eyes were so wide, so vulnerable. Anyone could look into them right now and see the sad spirit lingering behind.

"We haven't been completely honest with each other." She fell onto the couch beside him, and he sat down, still staring at her. "I…I have no idea what's going on, but I think it's time we start to figure that out. First, are you…are you thinking about…" Her voice trailed off, and for the first time her eyes drifted away from his, falling on her hands folded nervously in her lap. He knew what she was talking about just from the familiar look in her eyes,

"I divorced Kathy. I sent in the papers."

Her eyes widened. "But you said…"

"It's not finished. She's asking for a longer custody of the kids- sent me the papers last weekend. I haven't signed that yet. I can't…I can't just sign off my kids, you know?"

She said nothing but nodded slowly at him, her hand lifting from her lap, landing on his shoulder.

"When I fax that to her… it's all over. But she won't finalize it until I've sent in that last document, that last sheet…the one that loses my children."

"What do you think you'll do?"

"I have no idea. My lawyer knows about it, but I don't know what we'll do. I can't…I can't let them go, Olivia. I know she could give them something better: a steady job, a steady house…" He laughed to himself, trying to break the tension in his own voice. "She can pick out matching outfits for one thing. And she can braid Lizzie's hair. I could never braid her hair…" He blinked back a single tear, remembering the long hair between his fingers, stumbling with the knots and laughing with his daughter. "Why is this happening?"

Her hands ran over his face, touching his cheek, gracing his forehead with fingertips as cool as a spring breeze. He closed his eyes, feeling the tear release itself, running down to his chin. She caught it with her left hand, and let her fingers drift to his mouth. He kissed them, tasting the salt of his own grief.

"You've been so good to me," She whispered, staring up into his eyes, now blurred with tears. "Always so good…"

He touched her arm, his other hand embracing her left fingers. He squeezed them gently, savoring the feeling of her hand in his.

Somewhere out there a killer still waited. Somewhere, in the low sunlight of the afternoon, a dark man sat, his mind filled with rage. And in these rooms, he had once found his prey, taking so many lives before them.

They felt the desperation. They felt the need. She could die, he could die. They were both in danger, and they were helpless. Useless. All they could do was hold onto _this_…whatever this was, and hope for it to carry them through.

So she took his hand, and he took hers.

"Elliot…" She kissed his cheek, resting her head against his. "Please…I'm so sorry…"

"I know." He put a finger to her lips, smiling gently, blinking away the tears. "We can forget."

"I need…I need to know…"

He pulled her closer, and they embraced until it hurt both inside and out. And then they stood, and walked, and held.

"Come to bed, Elliot." She was standing beside the door now, staring at him with those brown eyes again. He cleared his throat, unable to turn away, to think of something to say.

She lay down on the bed, her head on his chest. He did not remove her clothes, or make any motion to indicate they were to make love. She just lay in his arms, and he held her to his chest, and they stayed warm together. Breathing. Rising and falling together, like ships on a calm sea, making berth across rosy water.

"I don't want to be alone." She said at one point, and he held her tighter, kissing her forehead. "I need to know you're here."

"I'm always here." He took her hand, and held it to his lips, breathing in her fingertips, kissing her palm.

"I'm afraid of needing you." She whispered, looking up at him. He looked down at her face, resting quietly on his chest, their feet tangled together at the foot of the bed, one blanket over their clothed bodies. This is how it was supposed to be.

"Don't." Was all he could say, and it was enough. She smiled and nestled back onto his chest again, her head tucked inside his arm, curving gently over her back and hugging her close to his body. Her arms encircled him, one under his back and one over his front. He loved this, being tangled like a puzzle, adrift in oen another.

They lay together for three hours, drifting in and out of sleep, waking to stare into each other's eyes, smiling gently or exchanging a kiss on the forehead and cheek. His cell phone went off suddenly, and she awoke, lifting her head and staring curiously at him.

"Stabler." He said quietly, his brow furrowing.

"Elliot," It was Cragen, not sounding very happy. "Elliot, I have some bad news."


	12. Bad News

**oh yes, the evilness of it all. cliffhangers can be as evil as coming across a hot glass of milk on an excruciatingly hot day, and being completely parched. do you know how evil it is to come across this gross, hot glass of milk on a hot day after three miles of running? and you are so out of your mind that you drink it?**

**THAT is evil. that is evil right there.**

**I'm going to Montreal this weekend, so I won't be writing for about three days. I think I'm going to go to the city too, since I'm visiting Columbia and Barnard this month. (I MUST GO TO BARNARD!) (and for all non-new-yorkers, "the city" is NYC) if I go on another hiatus, we can't all go crazy. I have spoiled you all rotten: updating every day, being humorous, writing these long and entertaining author's notes. I can only hope that deep in your hearts there is room enough to forgive me for my hiatus-ing. if you don't forgive me, it's okay- I don't really believe in forgiveness. I say forget or don't forget it- easy as that. Probably why I'm an atheist…**

**anyhow- OH BUGGER! I just spilled milk all over my Ralph Lauren oxford. bloody hell, this is the hardest thing to clean! **

**anyhow, as I clean off my boobs, hope you had a wonderful valentine's day. I got an anonymous rose from someone…(giggling excitedly) they left a note saying: 'To: Kate- Love, from You-Know-Who." OH NO! VOLDEMORT IS SENDING ME VALENTINES! no really, I am so excited to find out which of the two possible lovers I may be acquiring. **

**I didn't update more yesterday because I went to Nordic skiing sectionals yesterday. GUESS WHO GOT SECOND PLACE? ME DID! ME DID! our whole team swept the event. we won everything. MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!**

**the power went out at our school so we went home early. the wind has knocked out all the power in Warren County, YES! the generator at our house has allowed me to sit around watching The Matrix while everyone else freezes in their wind-chilled homes. scoff.**

**hope you enjoy this chapter. I just love twisting this plot for everything the poor dear is worth. It is becoming the roller coaster of angst here.**

**happy chapter consuming!**

"What is it?" His eyes fell on Olivia, staring groggily at him as she yawned. He released his grip on her waist, suddenly aware of his captain's presence on the phone beside his ear. It was a very good thing Cragen could not see what was going on right now…

"He's dead."

"Who's dead?"

"Rodney Johnson. Tara's husband."

"Suicide?"

"Not unless castration in the shower and shooting yourself in the chest with an invisible gun is the new way of doing yourself in."

Elliot drew in a sharp breath. "So this is the rapist again?"

Cragen's tone became sarcastic. "The penis in the sink was a bit of a giveaway, but yeah, we're pretty clear that it's the same one. No one had known about Tara. He hadn't even told her family yet, just to be safe."

"So now they'll have both of them to mourn."

"Unfortunately, yes. And the squad's in a panic. We had guys watching Rod twenty four-seven, and someone slipped past us. Munch and Fin are still working out the kinks of this, doing the only job they're actually capable of."

Elliot tried to laugh. "Sitting in front of a TV?"

"No, they're not on surveillance this time. They're off intimidating Rodney's neighbors into talking."

"Any luck yet?"

"No leads, no witnesses, nothing. No one even heard his screams, which you would assume would be issued from a dying man, having just lost his manly parts."

"They know he was alive when he was castrated?"

"Medical science still amazes me. The family jewels were the first to go. Then the perp put three slugs in his chest and cleared the place. Two bullets hit his collarbone and one grazed a lung. He bled out on his bathroom floor."

"And did not scream."

"It took him around 30 seconds to die. A resilient man."

"A silent man." Elliot bit his lip. "If the guy's down there, then there's no point in me and Olivia being up here."

She looked into his eyes, suddenly confused. She narrowed her eyes, furrowing her brow as he continued to speak to Cragen.

"When should we leave?"

"Not until tomorrow."

"Why not now?" Not like he wanted to…

"If the rapist is there, he could have contacted someone in the city to silence Rodney. I'm not going to lhave you eave your posts if there remains a chance of nabbing him. He could still be waiting up there for someone like Olivia to come along."

Elliot stared down at his partner, her head still resting on his chest. He pulled her closer, wrapping his arm over her shoulder. _There is a person in this world who would rape her…kill her…take her away from me._

_But there is still someone who would do anything, ANYTHING, to stop them._

"I'll keep her safe, Captain."

"I know you will. Just don't forget to grab the guy, too."

"Yeah, I won't."

"I'll call you later if anything comes up."

"Thanks, Captain."

He put down the phone, and she took his hand.

"What is it?"

"Tara Johnson's husband is dead."

"Someone killed him?"

"Yeah…"

"The one looking for…_us_?"

"That's how it appears."

She sat up, brushing the front of her shirt off as though brushing away his love. She went to the edge of the bed and slid off, standing coolly beside the bathroom door.

"So we're going back?" She asked, staring pointedly at him.

"Not until tomorrow."

"But we're still going back. They're still pulling us out."

"If the perp's moved to New York, we need to be down there." He let out a long sigh, stretching on the bed. "Or, if they figure out it's a different guy, we need to stay here and wait for him."

She returned to the bed, sitting down beside him, pulling her knees to her chest like a frightened child. "He's getting warmer, isn't he? We're just sitting here, and he could be only feet away, waiting for us to let down our guards…" She turned to him, her eyes shining. _With hope…or with tears? _"Elliot…I…I want this to last."

"What?"

"You know what I mean…I want more of _this, _you know it. God, I've never felt so good and-" She cut herself off, covering her eyes with one hand. "I can't…I don't mean…"

"Hey…" He reached for her shoulder, but she ignored the gesture.

"When we start getting…_distracted,_ we're throwing away the whole case. We can't get involved like this, not now. I don't want to endanger this case."

He did not respond immediately. So yes, something was happening between them. Maybe their hormones were on the right schedules. Maybe the stars were aligned. Or maybe the situation had just been as romantic as advertised. Either way, he was here and she was here, and they had just spent an entire afternoon in each other's arms.

"Olivia…we don't have anything like _that_ going on, you know that." He brushed away the idea, not letting himself say it. _No, we are not in love. We are not developing a relationship. How could we be? We just needed to…spend a few hours like that. We're not developing anything else here. _He tried to laugh, coming out with a brittle chuckle. "You don't think me…and you…you don't think we're…"

"Oh god, _no_." She laughed too, though without any heart at all. A smile spread over her lips, but it was ironic and mingled with sadness. "I wasn't suggesting that we're…you know, I just thought maybe we shouldn't…we shouldn't get our minds off of the case."

"I agree. It's too dangerous…and we need to keep…focused."

"Yeah…" She stared at her hand, resting beside his. He desperately longed to take her fingers, press them to his lips once more, but there it was. They'd said it. They'd denied it again.

"Well, I should go get changed for dinner." He slid off of the bed, leaving her hand to lay lonely on the pillow.

"Elliot." She called his name before he could open the door, exit the bedroom.

"Yeah?" He turned, their eyes locking again.

"Elliot…do you feel something _different_…between us?"

That wasn't a difficult question. But instead of saying the first word that leapt into his mind, he furrowed his brows and waved a casual hand at her. "God, no! I'll forget everything that happened in an hour."

"Oh," She held her hand to her breast as though it were wounded, sniffing quietly.

He turned and walked out.

_WHY DID YOU SAY THAT? WHY DID YOU SAY YOU'D FORGET?_

He closed the door behind him, but he did not move. Instead, he let out a long sigh and pressed his head against his, resting his hand on the knob. _I'm sorry, Liv._

He could hear crying through the door.

…

Dinner was taken in silence.

_Bitchfoolwhydidyoulethimgoanddenyitallwhycan'twealljustgetalonghereOlivia?_

She looked up into her partner's eyes, glowing blue as they stared at his steak. They were eating out- Olivia was not going to risk the hotel food- and so far it had been the worst meal of her life. She wanted so badly to tell him how she felt…the love, the perfection, the warmth. The best time of her life.

But there was always a barrier.

It was called a job.

"Can I interest you in wine?" The waiter had appeared, smiling down at them.

"Yes." Olivia said, though Elliot had said "No." at the same time. The waiter looked from one to the other, before Olivia said "Yes." again.

"I'll be right back."

"You don't want wine?" She asked. It was the first time she had attempted conversation since asking what restaurant to eat at. They'd finally decided on the classiest place in town, some Italian place that attracted the wealthier tourists. Olivia would never have eaten here otherwise, but with the state money in her wallet, she was perfectly fine with it.

"I'm going to start another 'sober week'."

"And end it drunk, am I right?"

He cracked a small smile, and her heart leapt. "My attempts are well-known, then."

"Everyone at the station can tell by your mood swings and longing glances at Munch's beer."

"It might actually work this time. I finally have some collateral."

"Really?"

"After my latest hangover, I am in no hurry to rush back into that again."

_When you were in the hangover, you loved me._

She bit her lip, trying to smile again. "One sip of wine is not going to get you drunk."

"I'm already drunk."

"On what? You ordered water."

He stared at her, his eyes narrowing knowingly. She stared back, their eyes locking, but neither said a thing.

"White wine, our finest." The waiter had returned, pouring some into their glasses.

"Thank you." She took a small sip of the wine, frowning a bit at the after taste. "So," She looked up over at him, giving him a sideways glance. "Our last night as the Tracy's."

"Should we be celebrating?" He did not touch his wine.

"I don't know…we could get completely wasted, stumble back to our room, and sit around watching X-Files reruns all night."

"That sounds productive."

"And not at all letting up our guard…" She smiled sarcastically at him, but when she saw the look on his face her grin seemed to melt. "El…what's up?"

"Nothing." He reached for the wine glass, sniffed it, and then put it back down.

"I don't think so." She raised an eyebrow. "You just dissed the wine."

"That was not dissing!" He rolled his eyes.

She gasped. "That so_ too_ was dissing! Sniffing the wine and then putting it back like the waiter's floating crap in it is absolutely dissing it."

"I do not want to offend any wine or anybody. I'm just thinking, okay?" His eyes were hostile. She bit back a sharp retort. "If we're going back to the city, there are a few things to think over first."

"Like us…" She started, biting her lip. He looked up at her quickly, his eyes burning.

"Like us going back to work." She finished quickly, raising her eyebrows at him. As if she were suggesting that they…they were…like THAT! Really!

"Yeah, work. That'll be a shock, won't it?"

"After the skiing and the sleeping in, it probably won't be a very pleasant adjustment."

"The massage wasn't bad either."

She stared at him. The massage. Did he ever RECALL the massage? Did he remember her arms pulling out of his, her sobbing, her screaming? Or did he just remember her lips?

God, she knew _she_ just remembered those lips of his, feeling their way across the expanse of her skin…

NO. No, she did not. She remembered awkwardness. That was it.

Big. Lonely. Awkwardness.

"No, it wasn't…" She rubbed the back of her neck nervously, biting her lip once more. At this rate it would be bleeding by morning… "Elliot, do you think we'll get this guy?"

"I hope so. Somebody's got to lock the freak up, right?"

"I know, but…nothing has really gone to plan so far."

_Including love._

"Well, if he's down in New York, we'll get him faster. And if he's up here, we're dangling the bait in front of him like a gorilla hanging from a crane. He can't miss us, Olivia."

"Yeah, and aren't I glad?" She tried to laugh. It sounded like a choke. "Honestly, this job just gets worse and worse, doesn't it?"

"Retirement sounds better each year."

"What will you do when you retire?"

"We've had this conversation a million times, Liv…"

"I know, but I love how you change the little details every time."

"I have a changing opinion. It is something most U.S. citizens need to be worth anything."

"Tell me about retirement, El."

He let out a long sigh, smiling at his palm. "Well, I expect I will probably pay off the rent on my college apartment."

"Still in debt?"

"Only from college. Then I'll move up to the cabin in the Catskills. Or maybe…" He paused, frowning. "I think Kathy got the cabin."

Olivia saw the sudden pain in his eyes. She reached across the table, taking his hand. "There's lots of cabins in the Catskills. We could build one, too."

"We?"

"Oh, not _we_." She laughed uneasily, scratching her ear. "I meant _you_, but if you needed help, I know a pretty strong girl who is not afraid to work."

"For peanuts or supper?"

"She sings for her supper most of the time."

Elliot raised an amused eyebrow. "Does she?"

Olivia laughed. "Not very well, though. After all the shower rehearsals, she still has trouble drawing a crowd."

"I don't doubt that." He squeezed her hand as he laughed. "I don't think I would mind an extra hand when I'm building a place. Of course, I may just be wrong. Maybe I did get the cabin after all. It wouldn't be the first thing I was surprised to get." He took a deep breath. "I'm just afraid it will be my last."

"Hey," She touched his chin with the tips of her fingers, stroking it lightly beneath the lower lip. "When we get back to the city, why don't you go out with the kids? You can take the night off, and I'll get Munch or Fin to fill in on your shift. You can take them out to dinner, see a game, go to the fair, something like that. You'll have a ball."

"I'm sure I will." He said softly, his hand taking her fingers and pressing them to his cheek. She stared at him, suddenly frozen, her knees locked and her heart beginning to race. "We have one more night like this, right?"

"Elliot…"

"I don't want to see you cry." He whispered, leaning forward across the table. She felt her breasts sinking to the table top, her neck thrusting forward. She stared, her eyes locked into those bright blue diamonds as their lips met.

And this time, she did not pull away from his kiss.


	13. Spinning

**oh my god. this is like the chapter that would not be written. it just would not be fucking written.**

**I sat and sat and sat and tried. and tried. and TRIED! mother of god it was like torture. I mean, I knew what was going to happen in the chapter after that. but I was thinking, hey, I could pair them up. hey, I could leave them unraveled. hey, I could totally mess this up some more. but then there was that whole tie-it-up-to-the-story-you-have-already-basically-written and it got so horribly hard to write. the hump of the hill you struggle relentlessly to overcome. the corner in your relationship that you mercilessly fight to turn. the chapter of your OE story that is telling you that you can go one way or another will this relationship. but only one.**

**so you have to make a choice.**

**and it kills you, because you think you may lose half your readers over this, or gain more, or lose more, or just be abandoned altogether in search of better fics. so oh my god, the pressure. PRESSURE. brain-crushing pressure.**

**I know I'm a drama queen (well, of course) and I hope that you all understand the choice I made. it was not an easy one. it practically killed me. but I made it, and now it's up to you to let me know if I am ruined or better off for it. it's short for a reason.**

He was close to drunk. And because of that fact, he was well aware he should not be driving home. But Olivia was definitely more drunk than he was, if he was drunk at all, so he strapped himself in behind the wheel and flexed his fingers on the dashboard.

"Prepare for a bumpy ride." He said, and she laughed as she climbed in next to him.

"Shouldn't I drive?" She offered it with a sinister grin, her eyes flaming with their alcohol-driven fervor.

"What's your name, dear?"

"Buddy Holly."

"That's what I thought." He started the car, pulling out of their parking spot and blinking at the lights, suddenly very bright in his stinging eyes. "I'll stick to driving, you stick to sobering."

"Coffee," She said, her voice suddenly a soft moan. "Give me coffee, damn it."

"I'll make you coffee back at the room."

"Fine." She slumped in her seat, rolling down the window. He shivered at the freezing air suddenly blowing in his face, stinging his nostrils and eyes. He squinted at the road, blurred by a flurry of snow. The air tasted like salt and snow on his tongue, but he smiled, reminding him of where he was. Who he was with. Who they could be tonight.

"Elliot?" She turned to him, her eyes wide with slight confusion.

"Yes, Mr. Holly?"

"Elliot, do you think that man is still after us?"

"I have no idea." He grinned, but his smile faded when he realized of who she spoke. Perhaps she was not as drunk as she seemed, because the look in her eyes was sober enough.

_Don't let down your guard! _An angry looking Cragen was suddenly floating in his mind, pointing an accusing finger at him.

Yes, this was definitely letting down his guard. Getting drunk and DWI and thinking about sex with your partner. He was perfectly vulnerable to any attack. A four year old could run up and attack him with a lollipop, and he would be completely defenseless.

"I really need coffee." She smiled again, as though forgetting she had ever spoken earlier.

"I know." The hotel appeared on the horizon, and he smiled to himself. Another successful drive while wasted. This would be a record.

"Elliot?"

"Yes?"

"I can't move my legs."

"What?" He stared at her as he got out of the car, sprawled across the front seat with a strange look on her face. "Why not?"

"Because the world is spinning. And the car is spinning. And you keep turning bright pink. So stop already." She threw a punch, though he was too far away to receive any blows, harmless as they were.

"So what am I supposed to do?" He tried not to laugh, though the frown on her face was growing wider.

"Carry me, damn it!"

He stopped grinning.

"What?"

"Pick me up and- oh jesus. I think I'm going to hurl."

"Let's get you off the ride first, sport." He hurried around to her side of the car, pulling her onto his shoulder as she lost her balance on the car step. She was so light…

"Elliot…" She let out a groan, falling backwards and into his arms.

"I don't think I can carry you, Liv." But he did. He pulled her up. He cradled her like a child, one arm beneath her legs, one arm around the small of her back. She fell limp as a doll within his grip, her head flopping onto his arm as she gurgled her way to the front door. He felt himself growing red, and ignored the raised eyebrow from the woman at the main desk.

"Elevator?" He whispered to the angel in his arms, almost feeling the tender whisper of her wings brushing against his cheek.

"Sure."

She was as light as one of his kids suddenly, and he knew he could carry her anywhere. If she wanted to sleep in Oklahoma tonight, then by god, he would walk her there. If he wanted to take her home to Queens, let her sleep in that smooth-sheet bed where the moonlight always fell, he would walk them down the highway. The strength he needed was there when she was in his arms, just as it had been all that afternoon.

He walked her into an empty elevator, and waited for the doors to close. He stared down at her- her eyes closed by long eyelashes, her hair falling like feathers across her forehead. She let out a small sigh, and he smiled, treasuring the comfort of this moment, the peace he knew he did not deserve but still longed to feel.

The walk to their room…holding her made it seem like an eternity, a timeless eternity where two people had a future together, where hopeless dreams were possible, where things that went unsaid didn't really matter. They could bring it all together - the lies, the doubts, the fears. Everything could culminate here.

He opened their door, and did not reach for the lights. He did not go to the couch. He did go to the chair. He went to the bedroom, and gently lay her down upon the downy pillows. His arms ached when they released her, and how tempted he was to pick her up again, but he let her go. He let her go and began to unbutton his shirt, watching her all the while as his shirt was removed. Then he took off his pants, hung the belt on the chair. She lay silent and still, radiating peace.

"Olivia," He whispered her name, climbing up beside her. "Olivia…"

"_Urgh_…" She groaned, turning onto her side to face him. "Coffee, El. Coffee."

"Right." His face fell, if only for a moment. He slid back out of bed and went into the kitchen, stumbling in the dark until he had found the night light. Once he'd started a pot, he returned to the bedroom.

"Elliot," He looked over at her. She was under the sheets. She wore nothing.

He could not say anything. Any energy that could be used for speaking was traveling southward at the moment. Ashamed, he stepped out of the room, biting his lip.

"Where are you going?" She called, her voice a bit harsh. "I can't find my suitcase. Get me my pajamas."

Her suitcase was in the bathroom. He pulled his way through it, ignoring the bras that graced his fingertips, extracting a silky slip top and sweatpants.

She took them and waited until he had left. He went to the coffee in silence, wondering what had just happened.

Had he intended for love to be made? Had he had such hopes? Had he been anticipating it?

She obviously hadn't.

He poured the coffee, controlling the inner anger stirring in his soul. Strangely enough, he'd begun to contain these feelings now. Where once the temper had consumed him, filling his thoughts ever since the day he'd first screamed with Kathy, he could pacify the temptations. He could hold back the emotional wave and remain silent. Calm. Collected.

He'd been able to ever since she'd held his hand.

He returned to the bedroom with coffee, which she eagerly took and proceeded to down like a shot, despite its temperature. He watched her while she drank, possibly still drunk, possibly just…strange. Everything felt strange tonight.

When she was done, she turned off the light beside the bed.

He was sitting in the chair by the window, watching her. When he did not move, she turned the light back on, staring pointedly at him.

"Are you going to sleep there all night?"

"I just…I thought…" He paused, staring at his hands. What had he thought? Last night they had shared a bed accidentally. Well, almost accidentally. Tonight though, drunk as they may be, he was fully conscious of this decision.

"I don't mind if you sleep next to me."

He nodded then, walking gingerly to the bedside and crawling in beside her. She turned out the light. She whispered something inaudible. Her finger traced something on his arm.

His body flared with life.

"What?" He asked, catching the glow of her eyes in the darkness.

"I said that it was very sweet of you, carrying me back to the room. I'm not as drunk as I seem, you know. Just lazy."

"Anytime."

She squeezed his arm gently, her eyes glowing again.

"While I'm still drunk for the record, can I say something?"

"Sure."

"I didn't forget anything that happened today. I never will."

"Neither will I." He reached out and cupped her cheek with a warm hand, smiling at her through the filter of darkness. "I'm sorry I ever said otherwise."

"I know," She kissed him on the cheek, and he felt his face tingle with warmth, sparks flying beneath the skin.

He pulled her body towards his, and she accepted the gesture. Now that both of their heads were on one pillow, she nestled within the curve of his collar, beneath his chin. He felt the warmth of her form against his own, her feet touching his bare legs and her back pressed up against his abdomen. He let his arm fall over her, and she pulled closer, letting out a small sigh as she accepted his embrace, embellishing by kissing his hand.

"You have always been so good to me." She whispered, making him smile. "And since I'm still drunk, I have to tell you something."

"What is it?" He grinned, because he knew how drunk he was as well. Drunk and guaranteed to forget it all by morning.

"I love you."

His breath caught in his throat. He froze suddenly, and she felt the tension in his body. She nestled deeper, and he relaxed at once, his arm wrapping tighter around her.

"Did I…" She began turning to him with a frown. "I'm sorry." He saw a tear forming in the corner of her eye. She tried to laugh, but could not. "The things we say when we're…when we feel…"

"I do too."

He kissed her. On the lips. Long and hard and burning with passion.

Her eyes narrowed and she gave into the heat as his hand moved over her body, searching for the source of her radiant warmth.

She pulled away first, and put her head beneath his chin again. She did not kiss him again that night. He did not take off her clothes. Yet they were fully satisfied by the honesty of that kiss, of the raw intentions of their emotion, the need that drove that both in that one timeless moment.

"Goodnight, Elliot."

He knew he could wake up and not remember any of this. He knew some things could change, but not all of them. He knew that he could wake up and take this slowly, surely, however they needed to. Maybe this would work out. Maybe this wouldn't. But either way, he'd needed that kiss.

"Goodnight, Olivia."


	14. Reality

**apologies to everyone displeased with that last chapter. I haven't heard from any of you displeased ones yet, but if you're out there, lurking somewhere in the shadowy corners of an alley or sulking in the artificial glow of your computer screen, yeah. sorry. and sorry it took me a while for anything else. I went to Montreal this weekend, which, in case you are wondering (heavens knows why) was very very very fun. I love the French language, even if I take Spanish (not very seriously.) I mean, some attractive young male French-speaking Montreal resident (of which there are many) could come up to me, tell me the toilet was backed up, and I would still manage to take off my clothes. because it just sounds like sex. **

**and for everyone just generally dissatisfied with the bulk of that last chapter, you know my plight. I knew it was not going to be up to my normal par. but I dealt, unfortunately, and so there it is, the eyesore in the story. perhaps I'll go back and give it 'some meat on them bones' (and may bees sum tobaccee, yee-haw!), but until then, it's going to stand a skinny testament to writer's block. **

**I suppose this chapter is much better, at least in plot context. we start to come to terms with this whole relationship developing between Olivia and Elliot. we delve a bit further into the case, and finally figure out what the hell everyone back at the precinct has been doing. And next chapter will be a ball. Elliot's family makes their due appearance and I attempt to prove that Kathy does not always have to be portrayed as a bitch. **

**this is because most OE fanfic writers are under the impression that Kathy, the main obstacle standing between "the chosen ones", must be evil evil evil and a completely horrible woman-beast-thing. attacking Olivia, beating her kids, raping her husband, etc. well folks, divorce is not just for evil people anymore. yeah, we live in the 21st century. half of the population is divorced. it's completely normal and always difficult for everybody involved, and we shouldn't go around making Kathy the evil bitch just because she divorces Elliot. it definitely wasn't easy for her and the kids either, and I don't think she hates Olivia with a burning passion. maybe there is a touch of envy there, but no bloodthirsty bitch-slapping hatred.**

**off my soap box now. for those of you sick of my fanfic-writing-criticisms, you can just sit there and stare politely at an awkward point on my body. **

**am I the only person not looking forward to Conviction on Fridays? I'm sorry, it just totally strikes me as a Grey's Anatomy for DA's, and Dick Wolf has recycled law stuff enough that we are probably going to find it very familiar territory. and unless they start putting some meat on Alex's character, I'm not even interested in storylines involving her. don't get me wrong: I heart Alex. she can dress. Casey cannot. and she gets it done. all the time. but she isn't really unique. her character is pretty (to quote EW) cookie-cutter. there was that whole ep where she came back and went all 'life is rough in the WPA and I sleep with men who don't know my name boohoo' but I was so 'whoa…OE thingy…becoming…confuzzling…whazzit now?' I didn't care. maybe if she was struggling to raise a kid (like her dead or druggie sister's kid or something) and having an affair with a married DA I'd be like 'YES! NOW WILL WATCH SHOW FOREVER!' but until then, then interest wavers.**

**but the raising child and having affair…(fanfic knobs in head begin to turn) hmmmm…maybe 'our friend Dickie' needs to hear about this.**

**(goes off to plan another Dick Wolf office raid)**

**enjoy a (finally) meaty chapter!**

"Well, how do you think James Bond and Pussy Galore are doing?"

Fin choked on his doughnut. "That's a good one, man…James and Pussy…" He continued to chuckle, filling up his coffee as he did so. "We'll know at ten, won't we?"

"Yup," Munch took a seat at his desk, fingering the wallet in his pocket. "And won't they be happy to see what happens when you go on vacation?" He nodded at the foot-high stacks of paperwork sitting idly on the twin desks of their coworkers. "I'm not touchin' it."

"Don't look at me. I'm not touchin' it."

"Guess Stabler can do it."

"Why can't Olivia do it?"

"Because Olivia always makes Elliot do her paperwork, dumbass. Honestly, do you _ever _let your attention wander?"

"Depends on how low her shirt is."

"Sometimes very low."

"_Very_ low."

They exchanged knowing grins.

"What are you morons talking about?" Cragen was standing above them, frowning down from atop the stack of files in his arms.

"Gas prices." Munch said quickly, removing his feet from the desk.

Cragen raised an eyebrow. "Where do you get _your_ gas?" He dropped the files on their desks. "Don't answer that question- I do NOT want to know. I need you two to finish these for Benson and Stabler."

"They're gonna be here in just a few hours, captain!" Fin whined, staring loathingly at the paperwork before him. "Really, do they deserve vacation AND slave labor?"

"We've been over this, Fin. Undercover assignments are anything but vacations."

"Yuh-huh." Fin rolled his eyes. "Let's give them an excuse to sleep together- that sounds like a _great _assignment."

Cragen's eyes widened like flashbulbs. "Excuse me?"

Fin shrunk in his chair. "I mean, they're great for the assignment. Very serious and business-like. That's Benson and Stabler."

Cragen raised an eyebrow. "I should think so…" He gave Fin one last skeptical glance before stalking away. "Benson and Stabler…sleeping together?" He muttered to himself as he opened the door to his office, pausing momentarily. "Odd…but plausible."

_Mental note: keep close eye on those two, and don't let them into any locked rooms together unless there are two way mirrors. _

Fin turned back to his partner, taking another sip of his coffee. "If we ever go on special assignment, there is no way _we're_ sharing a bed- got it?"

…

Coffee. She smelled coffee. It smelled like paradise.

Sunlight. It was everywhere- covering the sheets, spilling onto her bare arms. She felt it on her face and smiled at the warmth.

She climbed from the blankets, pushing the comforter from her body and stretching as she stood. _The day begins…_

_And I am loved._

She stood in the doorway, admiring his form at the counter, his strong back turned to her. She watched the muscles flexing beneath a worn tank top, a hand reaching out to pour another cup of coffee, turn the page of the newspaper. Like he'd always been there, every morning, his presence greeting her the same.

She thought maybe she'd had a dream like this once.

"Hey," She settled down beside him, her mouth carefully turning over a smile.

"Good morning," He grinned back, pushing a cup of coffee her way.

She took a sip. "This is nice."

"Hazelnut."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, there's French Vanilla too, if you want that."

"No…hazelnut is fine." She stared at him, their eyes meeting and immediately locking. So how did you start a conversation with someone like this?

"I made toast, too."

"That sounds good."

"Yeah…" He handed her a plate, flipping two pieces of toast onto the porcelain surface before smothering them in jelly.

"Thanks…"

_This is weird._

_But it is the best kind of weird I have ever felt._

"Did you pack?"

"I'm almost done."

"Good." He rubbed the back of his neck, seeming uncomfortable. "You ready to go back?"

"Not really." She said, shrugging slowly. "Do you think…do you think this will all pass over?"

"What?"

"This." She pointed to herself, her other palm resting on the firm muscles in his chest. "Whatever is happening between us."

"So you remember…" He laughed to himself, his voice a bit softer, though playful. "Well, that's great."

"How am I supposed to forget that?"

"No, no, I'm not saying…it's not a bad thing…it's just…how do we deal with this?"

"I don't know."

"And how do we go back like this? It's not…" But she knew he could not say it here. Not when they were like this. Not when life was feeling so perfect.

"I don't know."

"Liv."

"Mm-hmm?"

"What do we do next?"

She took his hand in hers and held it to her cheek. His eyes calmed, his face suddenly awash in peace. "I don't know, El. But I know that whatever comes next, I hope it goes our way."

"Me too."

She stared at his face, so perfect…happy, and yet…sad. Did he feel it too? Perfect as it was, could it last? Could paradise truly be eternal? Or was it to be lost like all the rest before it?

"If it doesn't work out for us, I won't forget what's already happened." She said it to assure herself, to tell her inner conscience to remember that night forever. Yet he was nodding too, softly and slowly.

"When we go back, do we act normal? We'll just…just act like nothing's happened, right?"

"Yeah…" She nodded, smiling. "We don't have to let anyone know until we know. I mean…I don't even understand what's going on here…"

"Maybe it's…"

"What?"

"Maybe this is…well…" He took a deep breath. "Maybe this is love, Liv."

She nodded, turning away. _Oh god, if you say it THAT way…_

_Yes. Love._

_I love you. And you love me. It works._

_And yet it doesn't. How could it?_

"Well, we'll see what happens, okay?"

"Okay." He squeezed her hand, then let go. She felt the tension in her body relieve when the embrace was released, yet another part of her dying out, like a flame extinguishing.

_Oh god, Elliot. I can't live with you._

_I can't live without you._

"Did Cragen call?"

"Not yet. But when he does, we're getting out of here. Back to urban reality, unfortunately."

"Always fun." She laughed, taking a bite of toast. "I want to come back here someday. It's really beautiful up here, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is." But he was staring at her, and she wondered what part of the landscape he was talking about.

"All the trees…with the snow on them…"

"Very tall…"

"And the mountains…"

"Perfectly shaped…" He moved closer, leaning in. She felt the heat rising in her cheeks, flushing her face.

"And…" She said, her voice barely a whisper, "It can be very quiet up here. Sort of lonely, really."

"Not where I'm sitting." He grabbed her neck, pulling her forward. He caught her lips in a kiss, long and steady. She melted in his grip, allowing her mouth to reform itself around his, nearly dying in the ecstasy of the feeling.

His cell phone went off. He ignored it at first, cupping her cheeks with long and lean hands as her own mouth began to clamp onto his bottom lip, pulling it towards her as his eyes closed in bliss.

Yet the cell phone continued to ring even when they earnestly ignored it, so he pulled away, and she released her grip on his shoulders.

"That will be the captain." She whispered, her forehead touching his.

"I know." He whispered back, their eyes locked.

"Answer it."

"I will." He pulled out the cell phone and opened it up, clearing his throat. "Hello?"

She watched him carefully, the expressions in his eyes, cheekbones. She could read him like a book.

"Really?" He was relieved, thankful. The tension in his forehead was gone. "That's good. We'll be home shortly. Yeah, we're leaving now. I'll call when we're on the road."

He hung up, turning back to her. "Captain says to come home. There's no problems- we're clear."

"So we are the Tracy's no more." She grinned at him, wrapping him in a warm embrace. "We did it. We're safe!"

"Yeah," Elliot whispered as he grinned into her shoulder. "You're safe."

…

Cragen adjusted the blinds on his office windows, staring out at Fin and Munch, laughing as they did their paperwork. _Goddammit! I hate it when they know something I don't know!_

Even Huang was picking up on something. "Special assignment?" He'd raised his eyebrow when he'd found out about Benson and Stabler's absence. "So they're going away?"

"Yes."

"Alone?"

"Yes…" Cragen frowned. "Was that a bad choice?"

Huang's confusion was wiped away by a quick grin though, and he laughed as he stirred his coffee. "No, no. Not bad at all. I was just …surprised. They went away on short notice, didn't they?"

"Well, yeah. Why not?" And he'd been left there to sit stirring his coffee in puzzlement as Huang wandered back to his office downtown, his temper stewing silently in the dark pit of his stomach.

So now he was filling out paperwork, still thinking about the damn thing. He considered himself the fatherly figure in this precinct. If anything was going on, daddy knew about it.

Or did he?

_The long nights are finally getting to me._

And Christ, this case was hard.

No leads. None.

No criminals had ever done anything similar to this before, at least not in this quantity. There was one perp who had done in two women on their honeymoon nights, but that had been by coincidence. He'd planned on hitting up some girls he'd seen from the hotel pool, but had stumbled drunk onto these two in the hotel's bar instead. He'd raped them, but he'd only killed them out of fright when they screamed. He hadn't been sober enough or smart enough to plan as far ahead as this perp had.

The phone rang. It was Forensics.

He drove down to the lab. He did NOT leave Munch and Fin in charge.

"We've got something very interesting here." One of the younger techs said, on staff that day.

"And it took you this long to find it?"

"We had to wait for the body temperature to cool again before we could perform the tests, but we got the results we needed."

"Please tell me you got the guy's identification."

"Not quite. But we have something that might help."

Cragen bit his lip in frustration. _Just tell me, damn it! _"Which is…?"

The tech handed him a set of numerical readings, each specifically colored according to sequence.

"It looks like a DNA reading." His heart lightened for a moment.

"Not exactly. This is the chemical code for phydoseptine."

"Doesn't ring a bell."

"When a normal person takes sleeping medication, the body releases a certain amount of hormones into the bloodstream along with the medication, sort of like a back-up protection system in case the medication goes haywire."

"So this proves he overdosed."

"Not only that, but it also proves he was on hormone therapy already."

"What?" Cragen blinked at the chart. _As usual it is **still **all Greek to me._

"Phydoseptine should not have been released with the hormones for the overdose, which means it was already there, present in _massive_ quantities in the bloodstream."

"What kind of hormone therapy are we talking here?"

"Estrogen."

"So he was trying to address a man problem with extra sex hormones? Not unheard of."

"If you're using phydoseptine, you're not out to fix ED. You're trying to change genders."

Cragen blinked at the young tech, looking very excited about his discovery. "So we're supposed to find the perp easier because the man was a he-she?"

"Well…" The tech frowned, thinking and struggling with his words, his bubble obviously burst. "I just thought…maybe it would mean…"

"No, I suppose it works. I mean, it IS a bit suspicious for a grieving widower to start changing his sex."

"It could be stress." The tech offered, trying to make up for his earlier stumbling.

"Not likely. You've done well." He shook the tech's hand, heading for the door. "This will definitely _open _some windows."

In a way he doubted that. But as he met the chill winds blowing down the sidewalk, he could care less about anything but the distance between the door and his car.


	15. Homecoming

**I love you all. That is all there is to say.**

**And look, I am capitalizing the beginning of my sentences in my author notes! LiveJournal pretty much screws you over on grammar, so you get used to never capitalizing anything. It becomes glamorous in a strange way, until you are rather addicted to the whole affair. And then you get picked on in English class, even though you can write better than the whole goddamn class. (did I say that? Oh dear- ego check, Kate.) **

**Oh god, I am in my low of the low moods right now. I was on an emotional high until about six, all bouncy and fast-talking and Gilmore Girls-like, and then someone popped my balloon right as I sat down to do my homework, and I'm bloody moody as it is. So now I'm stuffing my face with marshmallow pinwheels, not thinking about the three pounds I gained over vacation, and scowling at everyone peeking into my room. Let the sleeping bear lie, I tell them. But nooo, they have to come in and try to be all friendly. Well, it's not like- _THE HELL! WHAT THE FRICK!_ _My dad just threw a toilet paper roll at me! And it hit my head! MY HEAD! Is he trying to give me a concussion? WHAT THE FRICK WAS THAT ALL ABOUT?_**

_**I MEAN REALLY!**_

**So I'm a little grumpy right now. Another day in the life of Kate.**

**Let's just roll the story before anything else happens, eh? Like flying toilet paper rolls. My dad will pay. I'm gonna put my mom's strongest perfume (the one he LOATHES) all over his pillow tonight. And hide all the other pillows. **

**MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!**

**You may now engage in reading. **

**And what I said about not making Kathy a bitch…um, maybe later…yeah…**

**(in case you can't tell from the chapter, I have a certain fondness for New York City. one too many weekend outings 'down south' will do it to you)**

…

"Well, the city is still standing."

"That's always a good sign." He looked over at her, his eyes bright and…happy. Welcoming. When was the last time she had seen that brilliance in his eyes? God, it felt so good to stare into them, like that first breath of fresh air after the hours inside. He had changed: warm, shining, sudden.

She loved it.

"Yeah, I guess Munch and Fin didn't go on that sugar-high rampage after all." She grinned. "You owe me dinner."

"Can do." He smiled back, his hands spread wide across the steering wheel.

They pulled off of the ramp, back into the steady stream of cars they'd originally chased along the highway; forests becoming grass, grass becoming cement. The gradual descent into urbanization. Everything seemed a bit brighter today, her city basking in an unfamiliar rosy glow. Yet she could open herself up today, let the unfamiliarity enter her soul, and glow alongside it.

"I'm going to miss the sunsets." She thought aloud, laying her elbow against the window.

"What?"

"The sunsets. I can't see them from my apartment." She closed her eyes for a moment, remembering the red streaks across the winter sky, setting the forests ablaze with radiant light and turning snowy mountains a violet hue.

"You can see the sunsets at my house." His voice was suddenly quiet, his eyes remaining on the road. She turned back to him, opening her eyes.

"Do they look like the ones up north?"

"Almost."

Blue blazes fell onto chocolate pools, melting them instantly.

She smiled when she looked out the window again. The sight of strangers was suddenly familiar, the unnamed character of the city bending her thoughts again to the daily grind, that strange addiction all New Yorkers fear and crave. She suddenly longed for a cup of coffee from the little place outside her building, to hold in her frozen palms as she listened to the squeals of the subway becoming proverbial after a particularly long ride.

This city could become such nostalgia on days like these.

Yet a morning like this had her looking in his eyes, seeing her own. It was the quiet company they'd always shared, yet it was suddenly more comforting, filling her with the silent feeling she'd yet to name. It soaked her soul, warming her from the inside out.

Their journey had slowed to its familiar spastic pace, slowing to a crawl for what seemed hours, then bursting like comets across the blacktop, racing to catch up with the company now shooting past. You could feel the rhythm of the city driving you, turning you on and off with the footsteps of the pedestrians, the calls of the people, the colors of the faces. Here it was and there it was, fleeting by in moments of calm and chaos, catching your hand and pulling you nearer to the center. The heartbeat.

And next to him, it beat brighter and louder than ever before.

"Home sweet home." He veered suddenly to the left, and they were descending into the darkness of the underground, her eyes lit momentarily by the neon flashes of parking garage lights. When he finally pulled into a space, she closed her eyes, letting them adjust to the light before opening them again.

It had seemed so bright outside.

"If we're going to do this, I'm going to need a lot of coffee." She said, stepping out of the car.

"I'm sure Munch put a pot on for us."

"Isn't he a gentleman?"

He gave her shoulder a playful squeeze. "If he's a gentleman, than I'm the Prince of Wales."

"Morning, Charles! Your sons are rather dashing, old boy. You mind if I steal the eldest one for a spin?"

The elevator still smelled like someone had puked all over it. Some things never changed.

The hallway seemed longer than ever before. She was growing extremely aware of the proximity of his shoulder to her own as they walked, and she monetarily pushed him away, distancing herself from his body.

"What's that about?" He gave her a sharp eye.

"You might as well be riding on my back if you get any closer."

He rolled his eyes and stepped away, but she saw the blush creeping up his neck as they stepped into the precinct.

"And there's the happy couple!"

She turned. Munch was holding out the cup of coffee, a completely horrible grin on his face.

_Oh god. What perverted idea has he installed in their minds NOW?_

"Coffee, Mrs. Tracy?"

"See, Elliot?" She smiled proudly at her partner. "A gentleman."

"That's it- you're all calling me Charles from now on." Elliot grinned as he made his way towards the captain's office.

"Do I want to know?" Munch asked, though his eyebrow was raised in honest interest.

"You can call him 'Chuck' if you want, John." She finished the coffee and followed her partner, extremely glad to be back.

…

The precinct still smelled the same. Coffee, mothballs, the chicken burrito Fin refused to remove from his bottom desk drawer. Three days away and he'd thought the whole world would change, yet everything seemed the same. The city was still awake (for every hour of the day), Munch was still grinning like a pervert, and she was still there. She'd always been there.

But now they were walking down the hall. And they'd come into the room. And all the while he'd known she was there, noticed her more than ever before.

Because every time their eyes met, his would wander over her body and remember how it felt beside his. And was the expression mutual? He'd like to think so.

Dinner. She should come over for dinner. She liked sunsets. She liked yoga too, he knew that now. And tennis, and old movies. And being close to people. Holding people.

Especially holding him.

"Elliot."

What would he make?

"Elliot."

Should he order take-out?

"Elliot…"

Maybe she'd think he was cheap. But she knew him anyway and-

"Elliot!"

"Captain Cragen." His eyes snapped ahead, onto the disgruntled (well, how ELSE would Don Cragen look?) face of his boss.

"Yes, that's my name. And you're in my office." Cragen grabbed his hand, shaking it with his iron grip. "Two days away and you're off your game, eh?"

"Three days."

"No difference. You look like someone slathered you with sunscreen and stuck you on a beach for three months." He looked over his shoulder, a small smile on his face. "And there's Olivia. What did you do to him?"

Olivia suddenly looked very guilty.

"Um…well…"

"Jesus, you two, I was joking." Cragen shook his head, offering them a seat as he sat down himself. "Everyone's gone crazy around this station…"

"Good to be back with the insane people." Olivia said, cracking a smile. Elliot could smell her from where he sat.

She smelled very good.

"So you probably want the low-down." Cragen let out a sigh, producing twin files. "We've had a few…breakthroughs, shall we say? Let me put it this way: the lab techs are underpaid."

Elliot snorted. "Another needle in the haystack incident?"

"Try the _Queen Mary_ in a haystack."

Olivia shifted in her seat. Elliot realized he was becoming acutely aware of all her movements.

"The husband was having hormone therapy."

"Athletics?"

"Gender change."

Elliot whistled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Wow. That's pretty big."

"That's why I thought you needed to hear it. So detectives, the question is: does this add a motive or does this help nail a perp?"

"So it might be a reason to kill him?"

"Or it may be a reason he killed." Olivia said softly, and Elliot turned to her, eyes widening. "If he was changing his sex, who knows what he was trying to cover up? A new sex, a new life…he could walk away from the murder and rape of his wife."

Elliot rolled his eyes. "They checked his semen. They checked his blood, prints, everything. He did not rape his wife."

"Hiring rapists is not unheard of, Elliot."

"So he hires someone to kill his wife, and covers his tracks by changing his gender?" Elliot snorted. "That makes no sense, Liv."

"Can you think of another reason to change your gender following the murder and rape of your wife?" Her eyes were beginning to burn.

Ooh, he loved it.

"Depression. Confusion. Emotional trauma. It will do things to you, I'm sure." Elliot threw up his arms as she shook her head in protest. "Oh please, Liv. You can't tell me you are going to pin this crime on him. And he's not the only one. There's a stack of files out there that you'd pin on him, too? One man trying to get rid of his dick and that makes him a criminal?"

"Someone's sensitive about gender change…" She rolled her eyes and laid back in her chair, arms folded stubbornly across her chest. He tried not to smile at the pout on her face.

Cragen stared at the two of them, mouth half-open. "Did you two go on _crack_ while you were away? Because I have no idea what's going on right now."

Neither one said a word, until Olivia shrugged and stood up. "We have paperwork, right?"

"Well yeah, but…"

"We'll go address it, then."

Elliot followed her out the door, giving her a small wink. She returned it, her eyes flaming again with that satisfied burn.

Cragen came out a minute after them, still rubbing the back of his dazed head.

"The sexual tension too much for you, boss?" Munch quipped as he walked by, giving the captain a wink.

Cragen shook his head, staring at the partners now huddled over a desk. Olivia was leaning across the table, and Elliot was staring at where she was pointing…no, wait. He was staring…across the way. Towards her chest…down her shit. Her shirt. Boobs. Well, who _doesn't_ stare down her shirt after all- NO. Cragen shook his head. That was not the question. The question was…

WHAT THE HELL WAS GOING ON?

…

"Goodnight, Chuck!" Munch gave a wave over his shoulder as he headed out the door, Fin following not far behind as he pulled on his hat. Outside, the city still creaked and called, unchanged from the day's pace, but the light had faded and the sky was dark, beckoning to those who would come and summoning the willing to their beds, whether they be mattresses with feather pillows, or a stranger's bed, or the bench beside the park.

"What is he talking about?" Elliot looked up at his partner, bent diligently over the piles of folders before them. She shrugged, grinning.

"Does anyone _ever_ know what Munch is talking about?"

"Good point." He looked down at the words before him again, blurring as an avalanche of emotion swept over his vision. Her knee was pressed up against his, and there was this…this small smile on her face….the same look she'd had when she'd slept next to him that first night. "So Olivia…I was thinking…"

"Paperwork sucks?" She offered, laughing.

He laughed with her, nodding. "Well, I can't disagree there…do you want to have dinner tonight?"

"What?" She stopped laughing, staring quizzically at him.

His pen felt slippery in his sweating palms. His knee bounced against hers again, and he felt himself becoming short of breath. "Do you want to come over for dinner?"

"Sure." She shrugged, smiling at him. It was a friendly smile.

He liked that.

Cragen had emerged from his office, coat under his arm and golf hat resting on top of his head.

"How's the paperwork coming?"

"It's why I entered the force, captain." Elliot cracked a small smile.

Elliot glanced over at his partner, who was staring at him. And as soon as their eyes met, he couldn't help grinning like a teenager.

She was grinning back at him, and then they were grinning at Cragen, who was obviously noticing something was up.

"Good to have you two, er…back." Cragen looked from one to the other, a frown forming on his lips.

"'Night, captain." Olivia gave Cragen a small wave and looked back down to her paperwork. Elliot stared at her before returning to his own, seeing the radiant smile still glued on her face. He continued to grin, unable to stop.

Tonight was going to be perfect.

…

"-so then I look at Munch, and he's hiding in the stall, handing me change from underneath the door. He says: 'Pay Fin right now, or he will bother me about this all day.'" Elliot finished, grinning as he turned the corner. Beside him, Olivia let out a long laugh, her eyes sparkling in the lights of the city.

**A/N: That was a Mariska laugh. So picture a Mariska laugh. If you have not seen a RiskaLaugh, you have not lived. Think long loud full cackling bliss.**

"That's great," She wheezed, rubbing her eye. "I knew Munch was indebted to Fin, but I had no idea why."

"Well, now you're in on another one of the boy's secrets, thanks to my courtesy."

She rolled her eyes, grinning. "Oh, please! I've weaseled all of your 'little secrets' out of you at my own leisure, time and time again. You guys have hid nothing from me over the years."

He chuckled. "I admit, you probably know more than anyone else about the rule-breaking Munch and Fin have engaged in. But that is only because I tell you about it."

"Well El, you _are_ my window on the world of men, in case you haven't noticed. Who else am I supposed to get this information from?"

"In that case, you owe me."

She gave him a playful frown. "Like what?"

"Like a secret. If I can give you all the sage knowledge of the male sex, than you might as well give me the coveted secret to womanhood."

"Midol and martinis, dear."

"That's unhelpful." He couldn't help smiling as they pulled onto his street. Because all of this was happening. All of this was working out so wonderfully.

_I mean, this isn't a date or anything. But it's something personal, and I am sharing it with her. And that's all that matters._

"Fine." She shrugged, rolling her eyes at him again. "Do you really want to know one of my secrets?"

"It's only fair, Liv."

"Alright, I'll tell you." She took a deep breath, closing your eyes. "The thing I've wanted more than anything else in the world is-"

"Oh shit."

The van.

In his driveway. Kathy. The kids.

The kids. He was supposed to…_oh shit._

It was his night with the kids. They were at his house this weekend. He was supposed to pick them upf or school.

God, she must be pissed. Kathy must be really pissed.

And now she was here.

And so was Olivia.

_Oh shit._

He got out of the car before Olivia could say anything, giving her an "I'll be right back." and running in the door.

Dickie was on the couch, watching a baseball game. He looked up at his dad as he walked in, giving him a half-hearted 'hey' and standing up.

"Look Dickie, I'm so sorry-"

"I don't care." Dickie shrugged. "I had hockey practice. Lizzie just called mom and she picked us up from the school."

"Is she here?"

"Yeah, Lizzie's in the kitchen."

"No, is your mother here?"

"Hey dad!" Lizzie had appeared in the doorway, running forward to give her dad a hug. She sprang into his arms with her usual energy, her hair smelling like cocoa as it met his nostrils. She was getting tall…

Elliot looked over the top of his daughter's head, meeting the eyes of his ex. There she was, still dressed for work, one hand on her hip as she stood in an irritated heat, staring daggers at him as he pulled his daughter from his chest.

_Shit again._

"So you're home." She said quickly, pushing past him before he could say anything. "I don't want an explanation- just tell me you'll be here this weekend so that our children won't have to _live_ here unsupervised either."

"I've been working all week, Kathy. I've been away. I just got home this afternoon."

"You didn't have to pick up Dickie and Lizzie until six, yet you were nowhere to be found."

He gritted his teeth. _I will not fight in front of my children. I will not fight. _"I'm sorry, Kath…I had paperwork, and I stayed late. I'm very sorry, and it will not happen again." He was apologizing like a child. She was his ex for Christ's sake. What had happened to this relationship?

Damned if he knew.

If he had any idea, he probably wouldn't be divorced. And everything would be normal.

_Except for-_

"Hi Kathy." Olivia had come in behind him, and he turned at the same time as Kathy, facing his partner with equal confusion. His face was still set in a state of anger, and he saw the look on her own face when they met each other's eyes. He felt immediately guilty, hurting her here. In this place. Before this other woman.

_I don't want to hurt you, Liv. Not like I've hurt everyone else._

"Hey Olivia," Lizzie said, waving from the couch, a sudden smile on her face. Dickie grinned at Olivia too, who waved back. The kids were always very fond of their father's partner.

Kathy was staring at Olivia as though she were carrying in her child's body. "So this is it." Kathy said, her eyes closing momentarily as she rubbed her temples. "Alright, I'm sorry." She gave her children chaste kisses, making her way to the door as fast as she was able. "I'll see you on Monday."

And she was out the door.

Faster than that first night she'd left.

Olivia was frozen, staring from Elliot to the children. Lizzie and Dickie were turning away, their eyes darkening with the familiar haze of pain. And Elliot…

"Kath, wait!" He followed he rout the door, grabbing her wrist before she had reached the van door. The house door was shut behind him, but she pulled away. "It's not how it looks, Kath. You know Olivia and I are just friends."

"I…" She sniffed loudly, rubbing at her eyes, smudging the eyeliner across her cheek. "I don't care what happens with you, El…I just…you know this is a hard time, right? We're just going through the rough patch."

"Yeah." He nodded, taking her shoulder in his hand. "I'm sorry for making it worse."

"No, you didn't."

And then she looked at him, and he saw it. That space in her eyes. That hole, that vacancy, that vacuum and void in which her darkness swam. The pain she'd harbored. It glimmered brightly for a moment before disappearing behind the hazel hardness, the star dying just as it was born.

"Elliot, we'll work this out. I just…what's going to happen to the kids? We have to think about them, and we haven't. The older ones are handling this alright, or at least they tell me that, and the twins…god, El. They're becoming teenagers. I hate throwing _this_ into the mix."

"We need a better compromise."

"I know…" She sniffed again, giving him an earnest stare. "That's why I want them to stay at my sister's house until further notice."

"What?" He blinked at her, his mouth falling open. "I can't see them?"

"If you're going to be unstable, and not fulfill the agreements, then yes. They're better off with me."

"No, Kathy. We are _not_ going to do this. I can't lose them like this-"

"It's not forever. Just until you…get it together."

"And what about _you_?" He knew his voice was rising. He knew he was getting angry. But temper be damned, she couldn't DO this. "Are you 'together'? Can you get them through this _alone_? I don't think so, Kathy."

"Do NOT judge me, Elliot. You know why I left. You KNOW why. I am not getting the kids mixed up in that."

"In _what_? In _me_? In their _father's_ life? Because **_THEIR FATHER_** isn't important to them?"

"They can stay the weekend. But they're coming home with me and staying home." She slammed the door in his face, backing up.

He stood.

And stared.

And fought back the urge to scream as she drove away, headlights fading into the ebony heart of this night.

…


	16. Family

**the steady stream of comments has definitely slowed on that last chapter, so I'm trying to figure out if it was just a really bad chapter, or if everyone has gone away on computer hiatus for a while. because hardly anyone seems to be updating their stories either. if it's been a tough week, I hear you: I had just about the crappiest day of my life on Friday. but watching SVU Saturday night made it better, especially since I got to watch 'Risk', one of my favorite episodes ever. ELLIOT IN GLASSES! KIDNAPS and an OE undercover (though miniscule) event as husband and wife. I just love when they talk undercover at the bar…and Elliot looks like sex in glasses.**

**so I don't have much to say really. I should be finishing an essay on "Of Mice and Men", but instead I am sitting here listening to my sister talk in secret Harry Potter code to her best friend over the phone. yeah, my family is just one big wack job. it is only slightly obvious where I get my insanity from. but when you think about, everyone claims to be insane, and in their own way, everybody is.**

**I've been named an SVU god. wow. that's an honor. I should get like a…crown. or a scepter. or something to celebrate with. like cake.**

**mmm, cake.**

**I loved writing this chapter. it rolled out easier than predicting bad jokes on SNL. (which really is not funny anymore. really. last night's was absolutely moronic.) **

**and OMG, so MAJOR SVU NEWS. have any of you seen the photo spoilers from the episode "Fault"? where Olivia is bleeding (major) all over the floor, clutching her neck? (though she really doesn't look that distressed about it…) well, not only does this episode find Olivia in a controversial state, but this is the BIG ONE. THE…BIG…ONE. THE "BONDING DURING STAKEOUT" EPISODE. those are not my words. those are the OFFICIAL NBC EPISODE SUMMARY words. so WAHAHAHA (crazy maniacal laughter) we OE fans may finally get out fill. who knows? maybe the Olivia's wounds are from violent sex… (eh-hehehe) it's not until April 4th, but STILL. BONDING. THAT COULD MEAN…UH…SOMETHING.**

**so on that note, sit back, relax, and enjoy as I rip your hearts from their chests and let them bleed all over Fin's shoe.**

**And I have to say it: god, I wish I could rename Dickie. I mean, I feel utterly ridiculous writing about bleeding hearts and ripped souls and using the name 'Dickie.' Dickie. It sounds like a nickname some purple talking dinosaur would acquire in high school. Or some clown on a kid's show might be known as.**

**But not my angsty Dickie…I just want to name him Garner. Or Blake. Blake is HOT.**

**Damn you egotistical Dick Wolf.**

…

She knew when he walked out that door what he was going to say. She knew what he had to say. There was a misunderstanding: he hadn't picked up the kids, she'd had to wait here with them. And it must have been so hard, sitting in this house that wasn't yours, was yours. Hadn't Kathy always talked about moving? Olivia didn't know; she generally stayed away from the woman. Kathy was always outwardly friendly, but there was a wall there. Something unspoken, the darker undercurrent…

_And now she has a reason to hate me._

To complicate this matter further, Olivia had been here. She'd come home with him. And Kathy had seen it. _God, the thoughts that must be running through her head right now…_

The voices were beginning to raise. Olivia saw Lizzie and Dickie, their eyes glazed as they stared at the television screen, not listening to the characters onscreen. Her eye flickered onto their faces, strained and blank.

"Let's go get something to drink." She ushered them into the kitchen, away from the steadily increased volume of the words outside. They stood awkwardly beside the fridge, staring out the window over the sink, all three pairs of eyes glazed as they looked out upon the woodpile, the long abandoned sandbox. "Are you guys thirsty?" She strained to look into their eyes, so cold and lonely. _Why do they have to be affected by this? Why is it that life has to be so unfair to them? To these children? Why couldn't it have been someone else?_

Lizzie shrugged, reaching into the refrigerator for a coke. Dickie followed suit, still not fully aware of anything but the voices of his parents. When the car door had slammed and the van had flashed across the front window, headlights blurred against the black of the night, they seemed to collapse before her, sprawling against the counter, tensions run bare and broken in their stolid veins.

Elliot did not come in the house. The garage door slammed, and they saw his dark form retreating to the wood pile, axe swinging dangerously beside him. She saw his hunched form, heard the stomping of his boots, and she longed for those bright blue eyes again. _Put on a coat for me, at least._

"I hate him." Dickie said quietly, his eyes dark beneath his shaggy hair. "He isn't doing anything about this."

"Hey," Olivia turned on him, spoon raised dangerously and dripping tea. "Your father is doing everything he can to solve this." She looked over at Lizzie, slumped against the wall, head bowed over her soda. "For the both of you, and your sisters."

Dickie sniffed, slamming his coke on the counter. "I still hate him." He stalked off in the direction of his bedroom, Lizzie looking longingly after his retreating form.

"He doesn't mean it." She said, looking up at Olivia, her blue eyes large and watery. "Dickie isn't doing very well…he's kind of blaming himself for the whole divorce thing."

Olivia shook her head. "Why? Neither one of you are to blame for any of this. This is no one's fault."

"It has to be someone's fault." Lizzie shrugged, staring back down at her hands. "Why not ours? Mom and dad didn't start fighting until we got into middle school. Then they fought all the time."

"It had nothing to do with you two, I'm sure."

"It sure seemed like it."

"Well, it didn't." Olivia took Lizzie's shoulders in her hands, looking her straight in the eye. "Don't blame yourself for anything adults do, not while you're still young. You have so much ahead of you, and you don't need to let the adults screw it up for you. Chin up, kid. It's going to get better, I promise."

Lizzie's eyes closed for a moment, as though she were fighting back tears. Then she pulled Olivia's middle into a tight embrace, breathing fiercely against her.

"Please talk to dad. He'll listen to you."

"He's got a lot on his mind right now, kid. I don't know how much I can do."

Lizzie shook her head, looking up into Olivia's eyes. Those eyes were so much like Elliot's, so luminous and hopeful… "He always listens to you, Olivia. Always."

Olivia closed her eyes, resting her head on Lizzie's.

_Not this time, kid. Not when I'm the reason he's having these problems._

_Not today._

"He has to get Dickie back. He has to keep us together." Lizzie nodded, pulling away from Olivia's middle. "He can do this. I know he can, he just has to hear it from you."

"Alright," Olivia nodded, moving towards the back door. "I'll see what I can do."

"I knew you would." Lizzie's eyes glowed brilliantly for a moment, and then she went down the hall where her brother had disappeared, no longer sulking and hunched over, but light and free.

Olivia pushed the door open, the cold air hitting her face like the back of a hand. She sniffed, turning on the back lights, and stepped out into the snow.

She could hear the thwack of the axe splitting the wood, and found Elliot behind the woodpile, slamming the blade down into the stump before him, cursing when it hit the snow instead. He wore no coat or hat or gloves, and she winced when she saw how red his ears were, already frostbitten.

"Hey," She said quietly, moving slowly toward shim. He did not look up, but grunted, his breath puffing out before him like a wreath around his head. "What are you doing?"

"Wood for the fire." He said quickly, trying at the stump again. She stared from the stump to the large pile of already chopped wood before reaching out a hand, catching his arm before he swung.

"You've already got plenty of wood, El."

"Not enough." He grunted again, shrugging her hand away.

"Well, if you're servicing a steam-liner furnace maybe, but your home will be heated just fine, I think." She pulled at his arm again, easing the axe from his freezing hands. "You have no jacket on, and it's freezing out here. It's got to be below zero, El."

"Don't care." He replied, blowing on his hands. "I can't feel it. I can't feel anything right now."

"What happened?" She whispered, taking his hand and warming it between her gloved fingers.

Elliot did not respond immediately. His eyes were blank and wide as he stared at the lights inside the house, blinking at the shadow of his son, passing before his window.

"She's taking the kids."

"What?"

"She's taking them, Liv. She's not going to let me see them again."

"El, I don't…" Her breath caught in her throat, frozen as the ice hanging from the house. All at once her body felt instantly cold, and she struggled to catch her breath.

"She says I'm unstable now. Dangerous. She thinks I've gone insane or something. And she doesn't want the kids near me. She'll never let me see them again."

"She can't do that, Elliot. You agreed to joint custody."

"She'll take it back. She can do that, now that she thinks I'm not suitable for them anymore." He let out a sigh, clouding his features with a puff of air. "She'll do it, too. I'm their father, Liv. And I'm not good enough for them anymore."

"You know that's not true, El." She brought his frozen hand to her face, holding it against her cheek. "Nothing about you has changed. You're their father, and you have every right to see them."

"But she can stop me."

"No," She pulled his hand to her front, holding it at her chest, above her breasts. She stared at him fiercely, eyes glowing in the shadows behind the woodpile. "No one can tell you what to do, Elliot Stabler. You are better than that. You are so much better than that, and you know it. You _know_ it."

"Liv…" He shivered in the freezing air.

She pulled him to her, and they stood holding each other, shivering together in the frozen night.

"There's so much…" He whispered into her hair. "And I feel like I'm drowning…always drowning…"

"I won't let you drown. Not you. Not them. You've got to remember your kids, El. They need you."

"They need _us_." He said, staring into her eyes.

"I know," She whispered as he touched a finger to her lips. "I know…" And she kissed that frozen hand, warming his body with her soul.

…

His knuckles rapped against the door, and he was vaguely aware of her presence on the stairs below, aware of those chocolate eyes turned onto his form. "Dickie…" He knocked again, waiting for a response. When none came, he pushed the door open, staring into the darkened room in which his son now sat.

He was sitting against his wall, arms lying lazily over his knees. Dickie, his youngest child, his only son, suddenly so distant in this black interior. Eyes glowed softly yet dangerously from beneath the shaggy fringe of his hair, falling across his forehead and eyebrows. Elliot's mind was suddenly filled with the image of a bright eyed infant, staring wordlessly at his father only minutes after his birth. There had been an immediate connection between them; perhaps because he was the only son, kindred spirit in the sea of estrogen in which Elliot constantly lived. Or perhaps it was the way they both wore themselves on their sleeves when they least wanted to, how they retreated so inwardly that they lost a part of themselves when they were finally coaxed out of their shells.

_My son. My life._

_Yet we might as well be strangers, sitting here and staring into eyes that harbor only pain._

_I have done this to you. In my own time and my own way, I have ripped open this perfect soul, bleeding my heart over one that still beats with innocence, letting my sins account for your misdeeds. _

Dickie had never been a drifter, a rebel. But here he sat, kneeling silently in the shadow of his bed, lost to this world his father so desperately clung to.

"Dickie, it's me."

"I know who it is." That voice, trying so hard to be sullen, yet still glimmering with the hint of honest hurt.

"We have to talk, Dickie."

"I know." His voice broke in the darkness. _We can't go on like this, kid. I can't stand around and watch your heart break- your mind aching until it's numb with your father's pain. _

"I'm trying to change things, Dickie. Your mother and I…we're not with it right now, you know that. And for whatever I've done- pushing you aside…leaving you behind in all of this…I'm sorry." He took a deep breath. "You're like me, Dickie," _And I know now that you hate to be told that, to be compared to this weak and failed man. _"You push yourself so hard for someone else's sake, until you've worn yourself out. Well, you can't do that now. You can't take the blame for something your mom and I are still figuring out. We have to do this on our own, and you have to keep going on with your life as normally as possible. I know how hard it is, and I know it's not something you may want to do, but I _need_ you to do that, kid. You have to keep going right now, and let this work itself out."

"Okay," Dickie replied as though he didn't care, nor had listened at all, but Elliot saw the eyes glowing brilliantly, flaring in the darkness of the corner.

"And remember Dickie, I have never forgotten you in this. Everything I'm doing, I'm doing it for you and your sisters. That's all I care about right now- not this legal crap, not how your mother is going to work this out. Just you."

There was a long pause. It was almost painful, this pregnant silence between them, weighing down on his already weary shoulders as he stared at his son, suddenly so small and thin.

"Thanks," Dickie stood up, leaning against the wall.

Elliot nodded, letting out the breath he'd been holding. "Okay," He nodded again, smiling to himself. "Dinner's going to be ready in a few minutes. Come down when you're ready, alright?"

Dickie said nothing, but he nodded enough for Elliot to see.

He made his way to the door, his body awash with relief. Before he'd closed the door behind him, he heard Dickie's voice.

"See you later, dad." It was a reluctant response, but a response all the same.

"See you, kid." He smiled as he shut the door, remembering a little boy who had always waved goodbye as he'd stepped onto the bus, grinning widely from the window, so happy for the days when his father left for work later and could see his son off to school.

He went down the stairs, finding her in the kitchen, bent over the sink, preparing a salad.

"How'd it go?" She said without turning, hearing his footsteps.

"Fine." He smiled, going to the fridge for a drink. "It went really fine."

"Good," She turned to him, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear, her eyes wide and friendly. "Do you want mushrooms in the salad?"

"Sure." He couldn't keep from smiling. To see her here, in this kitchen, _his _kitchen, as though she'd been preparing food there for as long he'd lived in the house. It was just so…natural. She reached past him into the refrigerator, and he grinned foolishly at her as she searched through its contents. God, it was just so right…

"Do you have any chives?"

"I don't think so."

"Why are you smiling at me like that?" She raised an eyebrow, throwing him a playful grin as she returned to the salad mixer.

"I'm not smiling at you like anything." He hid his grin with the carton of milk, taking a quick chug.

"That's disgusting." She pulled the carton from his grasp. "Do you know how unsanitary that is for the other people who have to use this milk?"

"It's _my_ milk." He said defensively, taking it back.

"And what if I want a glass? I'm not drinking something you've rubbed your dirty mouth all over." She pulled it back.

"It's not like I spit in it." He took it back, lifting it to his mouth for another drink.

"I don't think so, mister." She snatched it back, shoving it in the refrigerator and closing the door before he could protest. "If you're going to do that, buy a separate carton for everyone else."

"What are you, the milk Nazi?"

"No, I have hygiene, and now my suspicions are confirmed that you do not." She gave him another playful smile, setting his eyes on fire.

"And I suppose you haven't been tasting the salad either?" He pointed to the half-eaten broccoli sitting beside the bowl.

"It's not like I put it back!" She reached for the broccoli as though to throw it at him, but he grabbed her sleeve and pushed her down, giggling. He laughed when she made a half-hearted attempt to chuck a tomato at his face, but now that she was on the floor, he kneeling above her, it did not work to her effect.

"Milk nazi!"

"Salad sniffer!"

She picked up the head of cabbage and flung it at his mouth. He caught it and put it on the counter just as he aimed a carrot at her. It hit her in the face, knocking her back to the ground, where she lay laughing hysterically. He pulled out the salad dressing, holding it dangerously above her.

"So Olivia, do we want ranch or Italian?"

"You wouldn't."

"I would."

She let out a scream of feigned horror as he held the bottle above her head, his hand moving to the cap.

_Strangely enough, I think I saw this is a vegan sex video._

"Whoa."

They both turned to find Dickie standing in the doorway, his eyes wide as saucers as he stared at the two of them, Olivia on the ground, covered in mixed vegetables, and Elliot kneeling over her sprawled body, poised over her head.

Elliot cleared his throat, standing up. Olivia followed suit, brushing off her clothing and coughing uncomfortably.

"Uh…well…" He blubbered before her, helplessly holding two carrots.

"Um…do you like mushrooms in your salad, Dickie?" Olivia asked quickly, staring pathetically at him, pushing a piece of lettuce from her hair.

"Whatever." Dickie rolled his eyes and left the room, muttering something about 'completely weird adults' before heading into the dining room.

…


	17. Collision

**hi dee ho, long time, no write. you probably would like to know why:**

**reason 1- track season is underway and completely consuming all my time. you'd think horizontal jumpers wouldn't have three and a half hour practices, but hey, let's just do what the sprinters do. that sounds like FUN…(rolling of eyes implied)**

**reason 2- I discovered I am receiving mid to high nineties in everything but math, which is killing me because I have had trouble in that god damn class since I walked into kindergarten. since my teacher said that I have 'failed major tests' on my five weeks report, my parents are now in 'freak-out' mode and pretty much dictating my life around math. which is just GREAT (more rolling of the eyes) since I LOVE that class. (major sarcasm there) I'm not failing, but since seventies in my family pretty much means 'future college drop out and possible producer of crack babies' they are becoming uber-obsessed with my academics. they've also put a dampen on my social life (oh my god guys, ONE CLASS. ONE CLASS. I can ace all my other honors and AP classes, but NOOOOO they have to flip out about ONE FUCKING CLASS) which completely blows my mind since my parents were dating each other since their freshman year in high school and were in a band all during high school and college. Yeah guys, become MUSICIANS for your careers why don't you, and then tell your kids to NOT JOIN A BAND OR HAVE SERIOUS RELATIONSHIPS. _BECAUSE YOU WERE ONLY DOING IT ALL YOUR FREAKING TEENAGE/YOUNG ADULT YEARS._**

**(to be perfectly honest with you, I am not really _angry _at my parents. I have never been truly angry with them, because they have been really great about letting me spend a lot of time on my art and writing, since they know that is where my talents lie. they're professional musicians/instrumental teachers, but they stopped doing symphony gigs on the weekends to spend more time with my sister and I. family has always come first to them, and I honestly appreciate that and totally respect it. plus, I get to meet a lot of famous musicians through them, and get to see really great performances in the city, so I'm cool with it. okay, love-to-parents rant over.) **

**reason 3- I normally start getting a lot sicker during track because the workouts are so demanding, so I went and caught the stomach bug for a few days. and my immune system is non-existent, so I have been slugging my way through school and finally took a day off today. which means you can all get a new chapter.**

**so here it is. it's getting very exciting, and way fun to write. hopefully everyone is having fun reading too!**

**OH, AND HAPPY LATE SAINT PATRICK'S DAY TO ALL MY FELLOW IRISH (and other people too) FOLK! AND TO ALL THE FELLOW IRISH DANCERS, KICK A FREAKING FEIS' BUTT!**

…

Halfway through his baked potato, Elliot realized something.

He was looking up, past the dishes laid out on a tablecloth he had not seen in six months. Past the hands reaching for a bowl of carrots, past the face of his daughter, laughing at something the guest had said. He looked up into this guest's face, glowing from the lights hanging overhead, eyes lit up and mouth spread in a wide smile, and saw the similar light in his children's eyes.

For the first time in almost a year, a family was sitting at this table.

"Our best season yet," Dickie was saying, spooning more carrots onto his plate. "We made the sectional record for most points in one game."

"Dickie was MVP," Lizzie added, nodding at her brother.

"You're kidding me!" Olivia started to laugh again, holding her hand out across the table. Dickie gave her an eager high five the same way he had that summer so many years before, his eyes shining with an identical light. Elliot smiled to himself and bent over his dinner again, dinner someone else had helped to prepare. "When you make the pro's you owe me tickets, kid."

"Yeah, right," He shook his head, but his cheeks were flushed red. "I'm probably going to pitch my arm out by college, and end up in boring old med school."

"Med school?" Olivia raised an eyebrow. "Do we have a future brain surgeon at our table?"

"I don't know…" Dickie shrugged, though his smile was still evident. "I really like science, and this year I was offered this thing…"

"What thing?" Elliot cut in, raising both his eyebrow. He hated not being there all the time, only being a part of a fraction of their days. What parent was meant to only hear the half the story?

_Another part of my life erased from part of theirs._

"There's a summer program at NYU, where you intern at the university hospital and work with the staff. Mom says it's too expensive-"

"I'll pay for it." Elliot cut in, pointing his fork at his son. Dickie's eyes widened momentarily, and he frowned at his father with disbelief.

"You will?"

"Yeah, I will."

"Oh, uh…thanks." Dickie blinked. "Really?"

"Of course. My son isn't going to pass up a chance like this, right?"

"Right." Dickie's mouth widened into a smile, and he grinned at his father before turning back to his plate, still beaming.

Elliot glanced up at Olivia, who was staring at him in awe, her mouth half-formed into a sheepish grin. He smiled back, shrugging, and she laughed a bit.

It was all so right.

So perfect.

He could see them out on the patio: eating like this, smiling like this. He'd buy a new awning for the table and fix up the grill, and they'd all eat in the late afternoon, sun sinking lazily behind them, glinting on the ring on Olivia's finger.

He looked up at her now-bare hands, reaching for her fork, and realized how lonely they looked. Strong, but lonely.

_I could take your fingers in my palms, and make you whole again._

_I could do it just like that._

But the technical melody of a cell phone broke his reverie. They stared around at each other, that fragile line of harmony suddenly out of order, leaving them awkward and unchanged.

"That's not mine," He said, patting his pocket. Olivia shook her head, but a strange expression lingered on the line of her mouth.

She reached into her pocket, pulling out an unfamiliar looking cell, frowning. It sang out another chorus of Beethoven's Fifth, eerily cheery in the cold silence of the room.

"This is Lauren Tracy's phone." Olivia said quietly, flipping it open. "Unknown caller…" She read from the screen, leaving the room. Elliot stood up, feeling that familiar chill seizing his heart.

"Who's Lauren Tracy?" Lizzie asked, looking up from her dinner.

_My wife._

…

Olivia had felt her heart nearly stop when she'd heard the ring tone, held the cold instrument in her hand. She'd left it in her pocket, forgetting to give it back to Cragen when they'd left. No one but Cragen should have known the number. No one but Cragen should have been calling. But he had no reason to call that number.

No one did.

Yet the phone rang in a monotonous tone, oblivious to its misfortune.

She stood beside the couch, resting her shaking body against it for support. Even in the comfort of these walls, even when the warmth of this family was surrounding her, she was losing. Losing her breath, her heartbeat, her safety. Losing her mind.

"Hello?"

"Lauren Tracy?" The voice was low, muffled. Barely audible.

She took a deep breath, trying not to let her voice grow too shaky. "Who is this?"

"I have something that you need to hear."

"W-what?"

"Tomorrow morning at nine thirteen. Washington Square. Beneath the arch. No authorities, no friends. Don't do anything stupid and get yourself followed."

"Who is this?"

The voice grew deeper. "Be careful. Someone's watching."

"Who is this!"

But they had hung up.

And she was left to contemplate the reality that was slowly sifting itself among the cooling fantasies of her night.

She closed the phone, breathing hard. She felt hands on her shoulders, and turned into his arms.

"Is everything alright?"

"They want to tell me…tell me something."

"Who was it?"

"I don't know."

"No one should have had that number. How did they get that number?" He frowned, leading her to the couch. She felt herself losing her steps even when his hands were guiding her, seeming to drown in his presence, gasping for breath in the brilliance of touch.

"I'm supposed to meet them in the Village tomorrow."

"How did they get the number?"

"I don't know, El." She reached for his hand, holding it tightly between her own.

"You're going to tell Cragen. You're not meeting this freak anywhere-"

"El, this could be the lead we need."

"You're not doing it without back-up."

"As long as I can go." She shivered. "But El…they…they said to be careful. They said… someone's watching."

Elliot moved closer to her, his body pressed against her own. She felt her soul flare. "They're probably just trying to play with you."

"And if they're not?" She caught her breath in an instance, standing up. "I have to get home."

"You're not going _anywhere_." He caught her hand, pulling her back to the couch. She surrendered in his grip, allowing herself to be molded like putty in the soft warmth of his protection. "You'll spend the night." He wrapped another arm around her.

"I can't…" She whispered it, fighting the urge to hold onto him and never let go.

"You're _not_ going to be alone in a situation like this. I am not going to let you." His voice was so firm, so commanding. And she was so weak and her body was so light and in the dimness of that room he was the only thing she had to cling to…

"Please…" She whispered, but it was too late. Her body had already given in to the memory of a kiss, and her heart was meandering through the soft stillness of the dark, waiting for him to seize her soul and pull her through the knotted ring of this dangerous night.

Dickie and Lizzie were in the doorway, watching in silence as they clung desperately to one another, hanging on to the only person they'd ever truly loved.

…

Midnight had passed without any other significant event. He had not slept. He had not closed his eyes. He had not removed his gaze from the blink of the clock, flashing an orange streak on the dark wall. He remembered being afraid when they'd been at the hotel, imagining the man who may be waiting outside for them to lower their guard.

Now he was near this house, Elliot's own house, and his guard was already down.

The reverie of a summer day drifted through his mind again, this time half-hearted and only a faded photograph of the once-bright picture. Olivia smiled in the sunlight, leaning against him as they lay back on a hammock, swinging gently on a perfumed breeze. He planted a kiss on her golden forehead, smiling over her hair at the hazy figures running toward them. There was Dickie and Lizzie, Maureen, Kathleen…and a smaller figure with a laugh as bright as the sunshine.

His stomach growled, and the dream faded into the muted night, leaving him cold and alone in the black of his bed.

_I can keep you safe._

He told it to her again and again, repeated it to that smiling face that glowed in his mind, stepping out of his bed and trying to glimpse a summer day one more time. He shuffled down the hallway and stairs, blinking as the lights in the kitchen switched on.

The cold bowl of cereal woke him up, clearing out his cloudy mind and reminding him of the stagnant reality surrounding him.

He turned at the creak of the wood floor behind him, smiled slowly at the tousle-haired visitor shuffling into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"Couldn't sleep either?" He asked her, grinning at how she wore his own sweatpants, the way the oversized NYPD shirt was half-tucked into her pants.

"Not a chance." Olivia said, smiling tentatively over her shoulder. "Have any tea?"

"There might be some in the cupboards. Left side, top shelf." He nodded in the general direction, and she pulled out a bag of green tea.

"I don't care if people say this stuff has too much caffeine- a cup of tea has never done me wrong on a sleepless night." She put on a pot of water, turning to him from the stove. "Want a cup?"

"Cereal's my midnight miracle." He said, indicating the bowl with his spoon. "Helps my cholesterol, too, or so says the Cheerios box. Which in turn helps my heart, reduces my chances of cancer, and increases my fertility."

"Good for your future children, then." She said, giving him a lopsided grin. But they both blushed and turned back to their hands, seeing something more in the sentence. She filled up a cup and doused her bag, sitting down across from him as she warmed her hands on the mug. "So…" She stared at her palms, flattening them face up on the tabletop. "That phone call…"

"Yeah…" He looked up into downcast eyes, big and brown and lonely as ever.

"We in over our heads here, El? Because say the word and I'll call in the Brass." She reached out and took his hand. He gave her the other one.

"I can keep you safe." He whispered, narrowing his eyes and nodding at her.

"I know you can." She squeezed his fingers, and he felt the absence of a ring on her own hand. "Just…promise me you'll keep the kids safe first."

"I'm their father, Liv. I'm not going to let my guard down."

"I know, I'm their…" She stopped, smiling sadly. "Friend." She met his eyes with no resistance.

They finished their midnight snacks in silence, warm enough in the company of each other's presence.

When her tea was finished, Olivia put her cup in the sink, taking his bowl and spoon with it. "The bed in Kathleen's room is nice." She said as she ran them under the hot water, "Thanks for letting me have it."

He said nothing. He was staring at her back, imagining spending every night like this, realizing how easy it would be to find her near him anytime he needed her.

"El?" She glanced at him over her shoulder, giving him a quizzical frown. He stood up, moving towards her, feeling his body pulled as though by magnets to unite with her skin. He put his hands over her wrists, lifting her palms from the water, paralyzing her in his grip.

And then he kissed her neck.

"Elliot…" She said it softly, gently. His name. So…softly.

He rested his head on her back, feeling it rise and fall with her breath, uniting with the beat of her soul.

"I'd feel better if you weren't down the hall."

"El…I…"

"My bed is warmer. The mattress is softer."

"El…Dickie and Lizzie…"

"Are teenagers that don't wake up until the afternoon on the weekends. They never wake up before ten, and we have to be at work before then."

"We can't-" She began, but he silenced her with another kiss. She melted at the touch of his lips on her skin, letting him graze her forehead with his mouth.

"I can keep you safe." He whispered in her ear.

"I know you can."

And she took his hand as he led her up the stairs and down the dark hallway, all the while knowing that she would never feel safer than when she was united with him, warm and calm in the hollow contours of his body, letting the dark sink of her soul descend into the shadows of her night, and only melting with him, bodies brilliantly colliding in the heat of a winter night.


	18. Escape

**well, aren't we a lucky bunch of buzzards? yes, because you, my fine fore-feathered fans of fiction, get to read something that you probably have not sampled from my work before. you, my ready readers, get a "kate sex scene."**

**rules for writing a "kate sex scene":**

**1.) metaphors. always metaphors.**

**2.) no anatomical referencing. we don't want that kind of shit in our house. (oh god, I am referring to myself in the plural. can it possibly get much worse at this point? no, our sanity is finally doomed. we are going to end up very scary somewhere in our near future…) **

**3.) no specific verbage. so no indicating what was inserted where, thank you very much.**

**4.) protection? who needs protection?**

**(any comments concerning the above statement, especially aimed at the fact the author is allergic to latex and is probably just trying to make her unfortunate situation a little better are distasteful and really not funny.)**

**(anyone who didn't get the above statement needs to understand that I am allergic to latex. I break out into painful rashes. and boils._ so_…if _that_, uh…if you have an adequate knowledge of what they're making…_things_…out of lately…you know, uh…well…you know it's not really going to be fun for me when I'm…_active_…)**

**enough personal information. y'all know way too much right now. WAY too much…**

**withhold your orgies until they are absolutely necessary. I mean, the sex isn't for a bit…Lizzie POV first off. but I'm not saying don't let out spastic cries of pleasure while reading your daily dosage of OEness. **

**cheers, dahlings.**

…

Elizabeth Stabler was officially a teenager, 13 for four months now, and despite the fact that any time before noon was a ridiculous hour for her to be stirring on the weekend, she was finding herself sitting wide awake in bed at five-thirty in the morning. Maybe it was the alarm clock that was now blaring the Sex Pistols in her ear, or maybe it was the memory of the Krispy Kremes she knew were still downstairs on the kitchen counter, but at any rate, she was getting out of bed.

Once her feet hit the floor, she was feeling a lot less alert than when she had just been propped up on a pillow. _Coffee. I need coffee…**right now**. _Her mom never let her have coffee (_stunting my growth- **right** mom…_) but her dad always had some on hand. And even if they were out of coffee, she knew there was an eternal supply of Nesquik for a jumbo glass of chocolate milk that was guaranteed to perk up her morning.

Almost everything about this was a normal morning. _Almost._

She knew Kathleen and Maureen hadn't been home for a few years. Once the girls went to college, she and Dickie had been the only kids in the house, and she hadn't minded it that much. But once Mom and Dad had started to finalize their separation, she'd wished the older girls had been there, at least to make_ something_ in her life feel the same.

At first she'd been so angry- why was this happening to them? Why were her parents suddenly talking to each other like this, screaming and slamming the door even when they knew the twins were watching? They'd argued before, but it had been behind a closed door, or down in the cellar where no one could hear them except for the curious child who was brave enough to crouch down beside the heating shaft. And Lizzie had sat there many a time, cheek pressed to the cold metal of the grate, listening to the heated conversation she was forbidden to hear. Suddenly the fights were going on before their shocked eyes, and the children could not help but lend a weary ear.

Eventually she'd forgotten to listen, or forced herself to turn away. All mom wanted to do was fight, and dad didn't do anything about it. Mom was being a bully, and Dad was being a coward, and Lizzie didn't want anything to do with them. It had been Dickie who had told her it wasn't their fault.

"Maybe it's us." He'd said one day while they were raking. "They were arguing because of my conference yesterday, about my grades. Dad says it's not my fault, and Mom says he doesn't care anymore. They wouldn't have even argued if I hadn't gotten the C in English Lit." Mom had left that morning in a huff, taking some clothes with her. She spent the next few nights in a motel. Dad had spent the next few nights on the phone, but they did not know with whom, though he often hung up in tears.

Lizzie didn't know whose fault it was anymore. The only thing she knew was that her parents were divorced, and they weren't getting back together any time soon. Last night had been a fluke- they hated seeing each other. If they were still living together, it would be a complete mess. _So maybe all this crap about living arrangements is for the better._

Lizzie shuffled down the hallway, yawning again as she passed the guest room. It had actually been kind of nice to have Olivia here, sitting at the table with them, talking on the couch afterwards. Lizzie hadn't talked to a 'normal' adult in weeks- Dad was always distracted, Mom was always pissed. Yeah, that always made for _great_ conversation. She couldn't tell Dad anything, and she could never tell Mom enough. That was how it always turned out when her parents were mad- her Mom became a control freak, and her Dad sunk away into his shell.

She glanced into her sister's old room, wondering if Olivia was awake yet. But the bed was unoccupied, the covers looking as though they'd hardly seen any use the night before.

_Must be she's already up. _She knew that Olivia and her Dad probably had to get to work early, as Dad always did when they stayed with him. Much as he tried to get days off, it was fairly impossible with his work schedule. _But he's probably sleeping late, and Olivia's probably downstairs…_

_Unless…_

No. No fricking way. There was absolutely NO way they were…just _no_ way…how could they? They were partners (regardless of how they looked at each other) and besides, Lizzie and Dickie were in the same house with them. Right down the hall. They weren't going to…right _there._

_No. Absolutely not. _

_ABSOLUTELY NOT._

But she couldn't help it. Her feet led her past the staircase, her hand reaching almost mechanically for her father's doorknob.

_Don't do it, Lizzie! DON'T DO IT!_

And for a moment she drew back. _They can't be…_

And even if they were…

_I might see them like…THAT._

_But even so, there is just NO WAY they are. NO WAY._

Her hand curled around the doorknob. She twisted.

Pulled.

Held her breath.

At first, she could only see the hardwood floor. She felt her heart beating faster in her chest, fluttering like the wings of a caged bird, throwing itself against its bars as though willing itself to die. She couldn't will herself to look up into the bed, yet she couldn't take her eyes from the ground. They trailed slowly up the floor. Her father's shirt was on the ground. Typical. He was messy as ever.

His pants. Socks.

And then…

The breath left her, escaping in a passionless gasp.

The shirt he'd lent her last night. The sweatpants. And that bra did _not _belong to her father…

_Oh…_

_Oh…my…_

_Oh…my…freaking…GOD._

_THEY DID IT. THEY ACTUALLY DID IT._

She felt her legs growing weaker by the second. She turned to close the door behind her, but her eyes had already drifted upward. Before she could turn away, her body let out an involuntary shudder, and she was staring at the figures in her father's bed, wrapped in a sea of sheets that had once held her mother and father, but in which two figures now lay, clothing discarded on the floor. Granted she could see nothing…personal…but she knew by the items on the ground and the state of the shoulders that there was nothing on their beings.

Her father was sleeping soundly, his mouth opened as he snored. And wrapped in his arms, one hand slung over his back and one tucked under her head, Olivia slept, lips slightly parted, breathing slowly and methodically.

Lizzie shut the door faster than she had thought humanly possible. She froze when she had finally slumped against it, unsure of what to do. Without warning, she made a dash for her brother's room, practically tearing down his door as she ran to his bedside.

"Dickie…" She grabbed his shoulder, shaking as hard as she was able. "Dickie!"

He groaned, opening one eye to glare angrily up at her.

"Geroff!" He moaned, shoving her hands away. But she continued to shake, forcing him upright.

"Dickie, please! You have to get up!"

"What time is it?" He groaned, opening one eye again.

"Five-thirty, I think." She said quickly, jumping in place. She had to tell him…and she'd seen them.. and they'd been…and it was all so horribly…jumbled…and complicated…and-

He moaned again, covering his face with a weary palm. "I went to sleep two hours ago, Liz."

"Two hours ago? What were you doing?" She hissed, still shaking him.

"Having a magic show." He rolled his eyes, shoving her hands away once more. "Downloading music, what the frick else?"

"Please Dickie, you have to get up! You have to wake up right now!"

"Unless you have murdered someone or are being murdered, there is absolutely nothing that qualifies for needing my presence right now."

"Dickie, you have to-" But she stopped. She stared at her brother, his eyes squeezed shut in protest of the hands still resting on his shoulder and back.

Could she really tell him?

She'd just seen her father in bed with someone she'd looked up to her whole life. What did she think about that really? Yes, her initial reaction was shock, but who wouldn't be? People get engaged, and their first reaction is shock, but it's not like they didn't feel a whole lot better in a few seconds. She'd just gone into shock and reached for the first piece of comfort she knew, her brother, and now she realized that she hadn't even decided how she felt about this.

Was she okay with all this?

Was she, Elizabeth Stabler, actually okay with Olivia sleeping with her dad?

She had no idea.

For one thing, it certainly _was_ an earth-shattering concept. Olivia had always been the family friend, the dependable-extra-relative-who-was-not-in-fact-related. Maybe it was how not so long ago Mom and Dad had been close enough to put the idea of Dad with anyone else completely out of Lizzie's head that had made her so shocked by the whole ordeal. Yet Dad was divorced. He didn't have to hold to the obligations of marriage. Who said he couldn't sleep with Olivia? Who said the family friend couldn't become the family friend with benefits?

But what about the obligations to his children? Wasn't she, his daughter Lizzie, perfectly entitled to protesting this relationship? What if she realized this wasn't okay, and Olivia should not be like this at this moment in time? Maybe she's warm up to the relationship, but maybe she'd figure out this wasn't her best thing at the time for Lizzie's life.

_God, is this even up to me?_

_And how the heck to I really feel about it?_

"Lizzie, do you have a reason for this cruel and unnecessary torture or not?" Dickie groaned and gave his sister the evil eye. "Because if you don't, I'm perfectly fine with you leaving and not speaking to me for a few more hours."

"I…I…" Lizzie stared into her brother's glowing eyes, blinking twice. "I'm sorry. I'm fine."

She turned away, closing the door behind her, not even sending back a retort when she heard her brother mutter "_Girls_." before rolling back over to sleep.

…

The alarm above her shattered her perfect dream with the harsh squeal of reality, and she felt it falling like crushed glass onto her pillow as she opened her eyes, staring curiously at a bedside table she did not remember owning.

_Whoa. How wasted did I **get,** anyway?_

Something shifted beside her with a familiar groan, and she turned slowly, almost stiffly, to find the sleeping face of her partner beside her, scratching his bare chest with a lazy hand. She let out a squeak of surprise, sitting up immediately and jumping to her right, only to find her own front bare as well.

_Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my fucking god._

_I did it with Elliot. I did it with Elliot._

_I JUST FUCKED ELLIOT STABLER._

But then he opened his eyes. And the sight of those blue diamonds, glistening like the sharp waves of the sea shaped by godly tempests, recalled much more than drunken night.

She hadn't been drunk at all. With a completely conscious mind (though perhaps slightly influenced by insomnia) she had made love to this beautiful man before her.

His eyes widened with momentary surprise, but then a hand went to her cheek, and memory seemed to meet his brilliant eyes as well.

"Good morning," She whispered as fingers drifted down her collarbone, resting gently on the soft swell of a breast, coaxing her back beneath the sheets.

"It**is **a good morning, isn't it?" His voice was so calm and rewarding, and she drank it in like a warm glass of wine, feeling it run down her throat with a satisfaction like no other.

He'd let her with one strong hand, up the stairs, into a room she'd had only seen once before on a clear morning, when Kathy had still shared it. Yet in the dark all other memories of this place were erased, and she'd given no protest to the hands running over her face, her arms, fingers that gently pulled on clothes they knew well, familiar to the touch, yet satisfying to the soul to be shed.

Her only belongings, things that had smelled so much of him that to wear them was to be drunk with his presence, were falling to the ground like great grey feathers, and she felt like the swan that shed its winter down with the brilliance of the sun on it skin, glowing from within at the touch of this brilliant being.

And if she was the swan, walking anew in the light of spring, he was the world around her, shedding the cold raiment of snow and ice with her simple touches, emerging warm and radiant with all the gleam of the waxen twilight and the shimmer of the dew-glazed sunrise.

She recalled a time when they were both strong, when the world was at once wild and fair, when her life still glowed brilliantly with the faint luster of youth.

The wild sprigs of spring at once embraced the fair swan, still stepping unsure across the dais, and she let him take her there, pushing her down deep into the warm sea of linen, sinking like two stones in this river of snowy down. He captured her body so gently, and she surrendered so softly, and all at once her whispers were becoming desperate cries for more.

He was above her, his figure always forefront in her mind, lord over her immediate world. It was as though he had spread a pair of great wings to shield their act from the rest of the world, and she let him take her there as an angel of mercy, as the noble being must someday subdue to the winged creatures' flights.

Truly it was flight. Her back arched, her fingers holding tight to his shoulders and neck as they rode a silver wind, her body curving against a current of emotion that seemed to carry them farther than any draft. And he brought his great neck down over her, lips as sweet as a cherubim's breath searching their way across the supple contours of her skin. She shuddered as though caught in the frozen gusts of winter, when it was only the heat of her body escaping through his mouth as his lips grazed her bosom, her belly, blessing the parts of her body she'd once thought of as unsacred, barren.

All at once, in a great sweep of primal passion, she longed for such a blessing, wishing for his manhood to lay sanction on this, her woman's body, the hips she'd never admired, the breasts she'd never flaunted, the womb in which no child had ever been warmed. All at once she had become a goddess with naught but the touch of his skin, and she let out a cry when she felt her body becoming fully divine, felt her spirit soar when they were united. Perfectly complementary. Brilliantly whole.

For hours it seemed he could not stay away from her body. Olivia laid still and silent in the soft womb of the bed, stroking his head as it rested on her lower belly, rising and falling with her steady breath. He kissed her skin again, sending a tingle of heat from where his lips had met her down her groin, and her smile widened, her finger curling around his ear, feeling the sweat on his forehead from the warmth of their passion. She had never felt more feminine, more blessed, more beautiful, than having him lying here upon her, knowing his seed was still stirring within her.

She'd drifted into sleep eventually, and woken with his head on the pillow beside her. But it had been the most amazing sex in her lifetime. It had been more than sex. It had been some sort of…well, she didn't know what. But she knew now why she had thought of him so many times before, when another man had shared her bed, when someone else had gone through the motions. Now they were all just moments of simple sex- unbridling, unmoving, weary actions of weary people just trying to move on.

And today she didn't want to move on. Today she wanted to lay in his arms forever. Today she wanted to remember what it was like to feel him inside her, and smile at the faint whisper of his touches.

Today she was Olivia.

Today he was Elliot.

Today they were lovers, and there was nothing in this world that could take that away from them.

_Now it's complete. We've tapped the ecstasy, and we've become closer because of it._

"Do you remember it all?" She whispered, touching his forehead with a fingertip.

"Every moment." His palm traced a lazy circle around her breast, slowly kneading it with gentle fingers. She let out a small gasp, wrapping sudden arms around his neck, taking his lips into her own mouth before the wave of passion had crashed against the sharp shores of their bodies.

The alarm was still on, but she hardly noticed. He reached up and pressed the snooze button, releasing his lips for a second and smiling at her.

"Don't want to be late."

"Certainly not."

"We should leave soon."

"Of course." She grinned as well, still captivated by his eyes. "And the twins?"

"They won't be awake for hours."

"No ideas?"

"They're not stirring for at least four more hours."

"And you'll leave a note? They're alright with staying alone?"

"I promise."

She smiled at his response, kissing him again.

"I'm a very lucky woman, aren't I?"

"Not nearly as lucky as I am."

She winked at him, taking his head in her hands, unable to resist pressing her lips to his skin again.

"You'd be surprised, Elliot Stabler." Her mouth clamped down on his ear. Why did she love his ears so much? "You'd be _very_ surprised."


	19. The Author Speaks Again

**ach. you are all going to kill me.**

**no, you totally are. it's just that there is no way I can add a new chapter yet. not after seeing 'Fault.'' because that completely changed my view of the OE relationship. I mean _COMPLETELY_ changed it…**

**I don't know if you've seen that episode yet (um, yeah if you haven't and you call yourself an OE shipper…get the hell onto that case, honey) but it blew me away, personally. For once in about, oh, THE HISTORY OF EVER, OE shippers weren't the only ones saying: 'OMFG. ELLIOT AND OLIVIA REALLY _DO_ CARE ABOUT EACH OTHER.' no, this episode completely changed how every SVU fan looked at their relationship. first it was Elliot choosing Olivia. did you see the look in his eyes? DID YOU SEE THE LOOK IN HIS EYES? and then for once in LIKE THE HISTORY OF EVER the writers decided to do something right. Elliot fears his feelings. you know it and I know it and every person watching knows it and ELLIOT knew it- he felt something more for his partner. and he was afraid of it, and so he did what Elliot Stabler always does. he has a freaking emotional outburst all over it. it was so human of him. so real. so perfect.**

**and then that whole scene in the interrogation room and after in the station- they both realize what's going on and they're both afraid. (and, might I add, that part with Elliot continually interrupting her, much to her annoyance, was so classically fanfic that I was squealing) **

**but what shocked me was what Elliot said to Huang. 'No…she _did_.' I mean, what does that MEAN? okay, so we know what that MEANS (we're OE shippers- we know what EVERYTHING means), but do we know what it _completely_ means? And Huang tells him not to leave, but he storms out anyway. What are the writers alluding to here? Are they finally giving us insight into the relationship we've been screaming about for so long? **

**And then the end. I knew she wouldn't shoot. I KNEW it. 'You and the job are all I have left…' oh god. tearing up here. at this point in the story I was pretty much just saying 'OMFG' over and over again. I mean it. I couldn't stop. Elliot is still in COMPLETE denial (snort) but for once his anger has consequences. he loses the one person he's proven this episode means something to him. you can't blame Olivia. they're both in denial. they're both afraid. a relationship is acknowledged, and it's acknowledged as something more than friends. AND IT ACTUALLY TOOK CENTER STAGE IN AN EPISODE.**

**DICK WOLF I AM SO TOTALLY GETTING YOU LAID FOR THIS.**

**but anyway, I really need to think about this story. I don't know if any of you writers in the middle of an OE fanfic had this happen to you, but right now I'm kind of afraid to go through with this. I realize that maybe the characters would have reacted completely differently to a relationship, and right now I just want to see what the canon storyline does to deal with the current issue. my story has become so important to so many SVU fans that I am almost afraid to keep this up with such an amazing story coming out of TPTB. for once in an extremely long time (say…NEVER!) we got OE. and we got in the most humanly raw way possible. and since I am still in cerebral shock from the whole affair, I don't know what I am going to do for a few days.**

**BUT BEAR WITH ME. IT WILL BE CONTINUED. JUST WAIT UNTIL SAY…TOMORROW.**


	20. Blood

**yes, there is justice on this planet. (and not just on SVU!)**

**I, Kate the well-versed and rather-sexeh author, have come to the decision that this story can be held off no further. saucy and overbold, beldams as you are, you have dared to ask for more. and in my weakness, I solemnly swear (I am up to no good) to give you more. more you shall have. you shall have more. shall have you more. you more shall have. **

**alrightee, my insanity just went out the fricking window. AGAIN. (shuts window)**

**and now it's going out the door. convenient, eh?**

**wow, having way too much fun getting textures for my PS right now. **

**Frank Sinatra makes the world much prettier. just saying…**

**so without further ado, the chapter of promised goodness. it's short. it's sweet. and there's action. because bloodstains are a girl's best friend. (shudders at lack of sanity right now)**

**love to you all.**

…

She checked her watch, shivering at the wind that was tearing across the street, biting at the tips of her uncovered ears and sending a chill down her already fragile spine. Where the fuck was spring when you needed it?

The voice in her eardrum was calm, collected; she took a deep breath as it spoke to her, reminding her why she was here. She pulled a cell phone to her other ear, almost smiling at the voice on the other end.

"Steady, Liv. He's coming soon." Her partner breathed into the phone as though blowing her a kiss, and for a moment she thought she felt the skin of her cheek tingle when his wish met her. "Steady, Liv."

She let herself rest against the wall of the arch, her eyes looking out over the slow-moving inhabitants of the park: college students crowded around their cups of coffee, scarf-clad residents squinting against the wind. A number of people were watching their dogs play together in a pen, laughing when the smaller ones chased the German Shepard that did not want anything to do with them. It let out a warning bark, a noise that echoed across the square and left a haunting note in her aching ears. More laughter followed. The world was a cruel place.

A couple walked by, swinging a tiny girl between them. The girl gave Olivia a small smile, open and friendly, but her parents paid her no heed. Olivia scanned them over, waiting for the stranger's face to appear from within one of these people's overcoats.

But he wasn't here.

Yet.

She pretended to check her watch again, but she was only looking behind her at the familiar figure walking the dog near the pen. He saw her watching him and gave her a small smile, and she had to stop herself before grinning back. No matter what, Elliot had her back.

"Head's up," She heard the voice in her ear again, and she put down the cell phone. There was a man standing across from her, scarf wrapped over his mouth, sunglasses obstructing his eyes. If it wasn't a bright day out he would have looked odd, but on a blustery day like this he was no longer out of place.

"Lauren Tracy," He held out a hand. She did not take it, wondering if something was concealed in the palm of his glove, waiting to prick her skin and extend an unwelcome substance into her system.

"What is this about?"

"I don't have much time." He moved closer, and she shivered again, though the wind was no longer in her face. "When I give the word, you need to go across the street and enter the building with the red door." He nodded to an expensive looking brownstone across the way. "This is the lock's code." He handed her a crumple piece of paper, and she took it unwillingly into her pocket. "Get inside and stay away from the windows. Don't open the door again until it's over."

"Until what is over?"

"I don't have much time." He repeated, his voice lower. "This is what you need to know, and only you. He has his eye on you. And as long as he knows who you are, you are in danger. Can you afford protection?"

"Who are you talking about?"

"Can you afford it? Bodyguards? Cops? Anyone?"

"Why do I need them?"

"It doesn't matter right now. What matters is that you can keep him out."

"Who are you talking about?" She repeated, her voice more insistent. She was not finding this very productive at all. If anything she was more confused than before.

"You have to keep him out. And you can't trust anyone. If he tells them to go through with it, they will. They'll make your life more miserable than you could possibly imagine."

"I don't understand…"

"You don't have to. Just remember- he won't kill you. He knows about things much worse than death."

"Can you-"

The man's head suddenly shot to the right. She followed his gaze, but saw no one.

"They're here." He said, taking her arm. "Walk slowly. Get inside and get down, do you understand?"

She nodded.

"I am sorry, Mrs. Tracy. I really am. I don't know if someone else will contact you. I do not have the confidence of friends anymore." He pulled off the sunglasses, the scarf. He was no one she knew, no one that would stand out on the streets. His eyes were a deep green, sad and solemn. His mouth was ringed with stubble, his brown hair falling across thick eyebrows. She almost gasped when she saw how young he was, barely out of his teenage years. "You have to leave now."

"I…"

"Now, Mrs. Tracy."

She walked across the street, heart thumping helplessly against her ribcage. She had understood very little of what he had said, understood very little of how she felt. Her mind was racing as she ascended the steps, hands shaking violently as she turned to the keypad beside the door, removing the paper from her pocket.

"Liv? Liv, what's going on?" Elliot's voice rang in her ear. "Liv? What's going on?"

"Get out of there, El." She whispered, sending a glance over her shoulder. The young man stood in the center beneath the arch, back to her. The scarf fell limply beside his leg, the breeze catching it and blowing it to the east. He let it go, and it blew across the square, a red snake struggling helplessly against the invisible current.

"What do you mean?" Elliot asked again. "Liv, talk to me. What the hell is going on?"

"Get out of there, El. Tell Fin to get away from the corner. Something's…I don't know." _6749003. _She typed into the keypad, listening to the friendly beep and the click of the door unlocking beneath her hand. "Just get yourselves out."

She stepped into the house, gaping up at the fully furnished hallway, the grandfather clock chiming solemnly beside her. What the hell was she doing, anyway?

"Liv? I don't-"

And then she heard it. A gunshot ripped through the silence of the room, echoing from the square where it had been fired.

"EL!" She cried his name, running to the nearest window. People were screaming, the crowd beside the dog pen dispersing and the pedestrians dropping coffee and bags as they ran out of the way, terror in their eyes. "ELLIOT!"

She ran back to the door, nearly tearing it open and racing down the stairs.

Another shot. And another. And another.

And another.

She couldn't make out the figures left in the square. There were two on the ground, and three more standing, one of them running for the cover of a tree. She pulled the gun from her jacket, sprinting across the street where the cars had screeched to a halt. The screams continued.

Another shot.

The figure straight ahead of her fell to the ground. She dove for the cover of the archway wall, pulling her gun to her chest, staring over her shoulder and screaming the name again.

Someone grabbed her shoulder, pulling her away from the wall. She cried out, swinging her elbow at their face. She raised the butt of her gun over her head, ready to strike when the person moaned with pain but did not let go.

"Liv…" The face groaned, and she saw with anguish it was that of her partner, holding his bleeding nose and turning pale.

"Oh Christ!" She grabbed him with both arms, her gun dropping to the ground. "Oh Christ…I'm so sorry, El."

"'s'okay." He whispered, massaging his face again. He held his sleeve to the steady stream of blood flowing from his nostrils, and she winced at the dark bruise around his left eye.

"I can't believe I…"

"Not a big deal." He shrugged, giving her a small smile. "Happens all the time."

Her head whipped over her shoulder as she stared at the two figures now kneeling over one of the bodies, calling her name.

"I'm alright." She said, walking towards Fin and Munch, now bent over the figure lying facedown on the pavement, blood pooling out past their shoes. "Did you see what happened?"

"This guy got out of a car over on the other side of the square. Pulled a gun and called your informer a 'sick mother-fucker.' Took two damn shots to bring him down." Munch said, standing up. "Good aim, Odafin."

Fin rolled his eyes. "Next thing you know, someone else is running across the square. Big black thug- pulls a gun out and takes a shot at my head. Shit for aim, that guy."

"They saw you, Olivia." Munch nodded at her. "The guy saw you in the window, and started running towards you, gun straight ahead. Elliot brought him down."

Olivia stared at the other corpse, gun lying next to him where he lay against the ground. _They knew I'd be in the house? Or did they just know my face?_

_Who the hell did this?_

"What about the informer? Where is he?"

"First guy shot him through the forehead." Elliot said, his voice low behind her. She turned to face him, then met his eyes when he nodded at the body farthest away. "Didn't even struggle when the guy started playing with him. Just stood there and took the shot. He was unarmed, too."

Her eyes remained on the body of the boy, stray leaves resting against the collar of his jacket. She didn't even shudder when she saw the pieces of his skull and brain splattered on the pavement beside him, flecking like an eerie graffiti against the inside of the archway.

A blood red scarf suddenly blew up against her legs, flapping wildly in the wind, but caught on her calves. She looked down at it for a moment, remembering the one who had worn it.

_I'm endangering us all._


	21. Puzzle

**oh man. I am soooo excited to get going on this story. I was sitting in Spanish today (taking the practice regents actually, which shows how much I pay attention in the damn class) and this totally awesome idea hit me. and then I was in math, wondering what the hell we learn imaginary numbers for, and another great idea hit me. and then I was in history, being all-charming-like so I could get a candy bar from Matt for free, which I did because I am just so all-charming-like, and this idea knocks me over. **

**so you could say for once in my life, school kind of came in handy.**

**yes, yes, yes, everyone thinking 'oh nuuuuu! there was just no OE in that chapter and if there is just no OE in that chapter what am I going to do with myself?' well, I know. the fact of the matter is if this was a straight romance, it would only be listed as a romance. but there's a slash there. it's also mystery (which is retarded, but I couldn't choose between that and suspense and mystery won out because at that point I didn't think it would be very suspenseful, which I realize now was not the right decision) so it's time for the mystery. and come on people, I pretty much OE'd the damn circus out of town with those last couple of chapters. a sex scene is pretty much as OE as you can get. the only thing missing was some illegitimate conception and then you've got the whole shaboozle. **

**illegitimate conception…hmmm…not a bad idea.**

**(you need to understand my obsession with bastards. when I figured out what a bastard was, I continually asked my parents if I was one, or at least a child of wedlock. and my mom was like: 'kate. we were married three years before we had you. how the heck could you be a bastard?' burst my freaking bubble. all because I wanted to be, sniff, _different. _because bastards are cool. DAMN cool. I'm still holding out for the milkman theory, even though my mom and dad both insist we have never actually had a milkman. or a garbageman. and the postman is a woman. goddamn it all! my rotten luck!)**

**at any rate, the story is going to be a lot more thriller and a tiny bit less fluffy smuffy luffy goodness. EMPHASIS ON TINY. just so half of you don't throw in the towel and go 'the frick is this shit, kate? I WANT MY OE-NESS!' I'll still have them sleep together. and kiss and be all angsty-wangsty and 'our love life is SOOO difficult, blah blah blah.' and 'raw honest sexual tension explosion.'**

**and confusion is kind of normal. I'm twisting the plot here and there, so prepare to go 'huzzat?' a few times. going 'huzzat?' is good. it means you will become even more engrossed than before! (I hope)**

**so don't touch that remote. don't change the channel. the real fun is about to begin and the suspense is going to start getting worse and by the end of this story I guarantee you will be so freaking shocked you will not know what the hell hit you. **

**except maybe this annoying fly that is in the corner of my room, because if he keeps buzzing and irritating the hell out of me, I will probably curse him to one of you unlucky people's home. **

**oh my god I had soft ice cream this weekend and it was the most amazing thing. you know how some things just put you in the greatest moods? well, that did it. so I am going to keep some serious loving in this fic just for the sake of the chocolate whipped amazement.**

**at any rate, enjoy it all-loverly ones of all-loverlyness-supreme!**

…

He watched her in the way only a lover could watch her, detecting the passion beside the pain, the angst beside the heartache. Her fingers ran absently through her hair, her eyes cold and blank when they stared down at the paperwork before her in earnest frustration. She was so much more open with him lately; the things she'd once tried to hide, the emotions she never spoken of…they were here in honest brutality, staring him in the face and crying out for help.

"Liv…" Her name rolled off his tongue like warm honey, sweet to the taste and satisfying to the soul.

She looked up, revealing more in her eyes than perhaps she had intended. She blinked the pain away, giving him a small smile. "What?"

"You alright?"

"Yeah…" She let out a long breath, massaging her temples. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Cragen's already got guys outside your apartment. And there's going to be someone with you all the time until this is over." He took her hand, rubbing her fingers with his own. "Hey. It's going to be alright, okay?"

"I know." She smiled at him again, blinking back what seemed to be a lone tear. "I just…I wish I knew what it was we're getting into."

"Yeah," He let out a deep breath himself, leaning back in his chair and releasing her hand. Munch was standing at the door, giving them a curious look as he sipped his coffee. "I know how you feel. But it will all be over soon, and then we can forget about the Tracy's."

She bit her lip. "You seem so sure…"

"Because I am." He smiled warmly, taking her hand once more and squeezing it tightly. "Don't worry, Liv."

She smiled, wider this time he noticed, and turned back to her paperwork. "A cup of coffee would be nice right now." She murmured thoughtfully, though looking as though she had no intention of getting up and fixing herself some.

"Cream and sugar?" He rolled his eyes, standing up.

"As always, El."

He walked over to the coffee machine, giving her a glance over his shoulder as he pulled her mug from the stand, handle chipped and sides worn from use.

"So how long have you two been sleeping together?"

Elliot jumped, nearly dropping the coffee mug and its contents.

"Christ Munch, don't _do_ that." He scowled over at the man beside him, whose eyebrow was now raised. "Give some warning before you go sneaking up on people with hot liquid in their hands."

"How long, El?"

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about…"

"Hey, do _not_ give me that. You've been checking out her ass for years and all of a sudden you don't have interest."

"What?" Elliot hissed as Munch pulled him outside, coffee and all. The door shut behind them.

"Well, if you don't need to stare longingly at her ass anymore I would say you've gotten a taste, right? So why stare longingly when you got to see it bare and-"

"Whoa, _enough_ Munch-"

"And that look? The looks you were giving her, the ones she gave you? Sex stare, Elliot."

"That is _not _a sex stare."

"Trust me, that is a genuine sex stare."

"Munch, you wouldn't know a sex stare because you've never gotten the chance to use one."

Munch rolled his eyes. "Don't go insulting me when the ball's in your corner, El. You two are totally sleeping together."

"And if we were?"

"So you are?"

"I never said that!"

"You implied it."

"John, you are completely out of line."

"Look El, you've been walking around like the guy who just got his all day. I know the satisfied 'I-got-sex' look."

"Munch, I'm starting to think you don't know anything." He pulled out of his grip, making for the door again. "After everything we've been through today, I am completely okay with punching your face in, understand?"

"I'm not going to tell, Elliot."

"So why do you want to know?"

Munch raised his eyebrows. "Because you've been away for a few days. Because I'm a need-to-know kind of guy. And because a lot of things happen undercover that are…say…_undercover_."

"Munch, there are days when I doubt your sanity." He paused. "Never mind, I think that's _everyday._" He shook his head, letting out a sigh. "Look, if Liv and I want to let the world know about our relationship, you'll be the first to hear, okay?"

Munch's grin widened. "You got laid! You totally got laid!" He started laughing maniacally as he walked back into the precinct. "I _knew_ it!"

"What was that about?" Olivia asked as Elliot sat back down, shaking his head and handing her the coffee.

"Just a little misunderstanding," He said quickly, hiding his face in his files. "So, you think they're done looking over the house yet? Lab autopsies are probably coming back soon, too…"

Olivia ignored him, looking over his shoulder. "Elliot, what did you just tell Munch?"

"I didn't tell him anything. He just had a question, and I straightened him out. Why?"

"Because Fin just handed Munch about two hundred dollars and started giving me death glares."

Elliot drew in a sharp breath, drumming his fingers against the desktop. "Oh, they're just gambling. You know how that goes: Fin loses, Fin gets mad, Munch gets his ass kicked. He'll be massaging his seat in just a while here, you'll see…"

"Elliot." Her voice was suddenly hard, and she narrowed his eyes. "Does anyone else know about…"

"No," He shook his head quickly. "I haven't told a soul."

"Oh…" She let out a sigh, looking relieved. "That's good. I was…I was afraid that…"

"Munch wouldn't know sex if it came up and bit off his testicles."

She made a face. "That's some analogy." She smirked at him. "Thanks for the coffee."

"Anytime…"

He grinned back. It was so nice to see her smiling again, to see that light in her eyes that seemed to fill the room with her presence. To see something more than rain in the skies that opened up whenever he caught her glance.

…

It was strange, entering this house she'd been in only hours before. Now it was filled with activity; there were two men in the door, another two in the room where she'd stared out the window. She passed by the grandfather clock that had chimed before the gunshots, and could not help but shudder, remembering the vision of Elliot that had run through her head at the sound of the first shot.

It was always horrible, thinking of your partner with a bullet in his brain.

It was beyond agony to picture your lover there instead.

She brushed up against his arm as they walked in, her hand almost reaching up to lock beneath his shoulder, to cling desperately to the one thing she knew was strong. The one thing she could depend on.

The owners of the house were Mr. and Mrs. Russell, a man and woman not much older than herself, were standing in the kitchen, arms folded in front of their chests. Both looked irked by the population of police now searching their home, and neither looked very happy to see Olivia and Elliot approaching.

"When are they leaving?" The woman asked, twitching her long eyelashes nervously over bright blue eyes. She was an attractive woman for her age, certainly in her mid to late thirties. Olivia had seen the rest of the house- these people were definitely loaded, and the clothing on the owners proved it. "We're having a dinner party in two hours, and if they leave the house in this condition-"

"You might want to cancel this evening's plans." Elliot said quietly, giving her a stern glance. "I don't know if you heard about this morning-"

"We've been at the Vineyard all week- we just got back a half hour ago and found you people crawling around our living room." The woman replied curtly, frowning at him. "Whatever this is about-"

"It was gang violence, wasn't it?" Her husband asked, his eyes narrowing beneath his glasses. "Our neighbors mentioned a shooting; that sort of thing never happens around here, not since we've moved in at least. But I guess when a gang moves into new territory…"

"How long have you lived here?"

"About four years. We used to live above my office on Wall Street, but then I started teaching business at NYU and the house was offered to me by the staff administration."

"We gave up a pent house for the Shootout Corral." His wife rolled her eyes. "Great." She spotted one of the guys from CS going through the hall closet. "Careful!" She said, her eyebrows raised in terror as they removed a pair of stilettos. "Those are Gucci, and cost more than you make in a year, sir." She gave the man a discerning frown and then turned to Olivia. "So when are they leaving?"

"Do you understand what happened, Mrs. Russell? Three men were shot outside of your door, and one of them had the access code to your home." Olivia stared at the woman, who still did not seem to get it, as she was currently eyeing the man coming up from her wine cellar with a suspicious glare. "This house is not safe as far as the NYPD is concerned."

"Someone had our lock code?" The man blinked, his eyes widening. "And he was _shot_? Outside my _door_?"

"Under the Washington Monument to be exact," Elliot nodded. "Do you know this man?" He held up the photograph of the young man's body, his face grey and pasty where he had lain upon the autopsy table, dead eyes closed and mouth pulled back into an untruthful smile. _He wasn't smiling when he died._

"Oh my _god_," Mr. Russell blinked again, covering his mouth with a reluctant hand. "Jonathan Bates. He's…he's a grad student. He's been in my world trade class for two years- really promising. I just…I don't…I don't understand…"

"Did you at any time give him your lock's access code?"

Mr. Russell shook his head. "Never. The only ones who know that code are my wife and myself."

Olivia gave the man a careful examination. "Mr. Russell, did Jonathan ever visit you? Did he ever come over for dinner, or stop by to talk with you?"

"No. We talked after class many times, but always on campus."

"Did Jonathan know where you lived?"

"He knew I lived near the college, but I don't think he knew my exact street or number."

"Is it possible that Jonathan stalked you or attempted to gain access some other way?"

"No…this is…this _was_ Jonathan." The man let out a short breath, trying to collect himself. "Jonathan Bates was one of the best students I've ever had. A bit different perhaps, but never in a hostile or unfriendly way. I can't imagine him being the victim of anything more than an accidental shooting. I can't see any way he'd be connected in something like this."

Elliot nodded. "Well, that's all we need for now. We'll contact you if we have anymore questions."

"Um, excuse me?" Mrs. Russell grabbed Elliot's shoulder, pulling him back. "And when are _they_ done?" She nodded at the CS workers now taking apart the lock system.

Elliot gave the woman a wide smile. "Mrs. Russell, someone broke into your house. We have to be absolutely sure you're safe tonight."

Her eyes widened in horror. "Someone _broke in_? Did they take anything? Do you know who did it?"

"I did." Olivia said quickly, then followed her partner out the door, leaving Mrs. Russell to stare in frustration at the men now drilling a hole through her living room wall.

…

"_Jonathan Bates_." Munch pulled up a familiar face on his computer screen. "There's our Benedict Arnold."

Olivia stared over his shoulder at the man smiling back at her, his eyes half-closed for his license photograph. "He's in the system?"

"He didn't pay a parking ticket for two years." Munch whistled. "Over a thousand dollars in fines, just from leaving his car in a Jersey storage facility. Bet that sucked."

Elliot appeared beside her. "Anything else about him?"

"Just where he lived." Munch printed out the address and handed it to Elliot. "Since you're heading back down to the Village, do you think you could pick up this record for me at-"

"No, Munch." Olivia rolled her eyes and pulled on her jacket. Elliot followed behind her, his hand brushing against her back as they headed out the door. She leaned back to prolong the motion, and felt his hand on the small of the back all the way down the stairs.

She smiled.

…

Olivia and Elliot stepped into the dorm room, which was fairly typical for two male college students. Discarded clothing lay on the backs of a few chairs, and the kitchen resembled a minefield. Jonathan's roommate Adam Gilmore showed them to the bedroom the two boys shared, indicating the bed on the right as Jonathan's.

"Jonathan's not here." Adam said, frowning. "I just got back today, and he wasn't home. I don't know where he is, but his Middle East Economics professor called, and he didn't sound happy. Jon never misses a term paper."

Olivia and Elliot exchanged glances. Olivia took a deep breath. "Adam, Jonathan was shot outside of school this morning."

Adam turned slowly, his eyes wide as his fingers ran absently through his messy brown locks. "He's…he's dead?"

Olivia nodded. "That's why we're here. We're trying to find the person who did this to him."

"Oh god…I…" Adam collapsed into the nearest chair, staring at the wall. "I thought this was about his sister. Sometimes…sometimes they'd…"

"What about his sister?" Elliot asked, his eyes narrowing. Olivia rested a hand on his shoulder, hoping he wouldn't push him, but Elliot ignored the gesture.

"Well, Jonathan's sister got into some trouble a while back...maybe a month ago, I'd say. They come from a good family, and the Bates are pretty well-off….houses in Nantucket and London and all that, besides the penthouse uptown. His dad's in charge of World Batesman; I guess Jonathan's like him- good with businesses and people and all. But his sister Katrina, she was…she was always getting into something. He has three sisters: Katrina and Hannah and…I can't remember the other one's name. Maybe it was Veronica or Vana or something like that..." He rubbed his eye in frustration, breathing in sharply.

"It's alright." Olivia said, nodding slowly.

"Anyway, Katrina…she's his twin. She went to Vassar for a year, but she dropped out and moved to the city, to be closer to Jonathan, I think. Jonathan said her parents stopped talking to her, dropped her from inheritance, the whole deal. Jonathan's the only one who stuck by her. He said it wasn't her fault; he talked about her old boyfriend, something he did to her. Cheated on her, I imagine, but he never said for sure. He was actually going to have her over tonight but…" Adam took another deep breath. "God, this is so fucked up."

"I know," Olivia said, giving him a warm smile. "But you're doing great. If you don't feel like talking today, you can come to the station later. Take it at your own pace, Adam."

"No, I'd better…there's a lot more." He blinked, turning to them as if seeing them for the first time. "Jonathan had a girlfriend, and he was really weird about her. He never brought her back here, and I never saw her with him on campus. He said she didn't go here, and he used to talk about her going to a state school at one point. But I don't believe him. He said something about her once…how she wasn't making him happy. How she broke his heart. But he stuck with her, and he didn't complain about her again. I used to think it was weird, how I never saw her, but I guess she was older and Jonathan felt strange about bringing her back to campus. I…I think maybe she was married, and he was having an affair with her."

"Did Jonathan ever give you any names?"

Adam shook his head. "He referred to her as 'she' or 'her.' And sometimes 'my girlfriend.' But he was so careful about her name; he never slipped up. He never told me. He told some of the other guys about her, but I know he never mentioned a name to them either. They used to ask me about her- what she looked like, if she was hot. And I told them I didn't know either."

"Do you have Katrina's address?" Elliot asked, his eyes roaming over the clutter of post-it's on the refrigerator.

"Sure." Adam got up and selected a yellow sheet from beside the counter. "Jonathan was always writing on it when she called. I don't know what it means," He indicated the jumble of random words across the front. "But he was always pretty excited when he wrote them down."

"That's different," Elliot said quietly, staring blankly at the paper. Olivia peered over his shoulder, frowning at the words scribble beside a typed address and phone number.

"None of those make any sense." She said, taking the paper from her partner's hand.

"Jonathan liked puzzles." Adam said blankly from where he stood, staring with shadowed eyes at the paper his roommate had once written on. "He always had one he was working on; never put it down, even for dinner. He was different like that…he had little things he did, things he said. It never bothered me, but some other people thought he was strange. Maybe that thing is just a puzzle of his." He nodded at the sheet. "But then again, everything's so fucked up right now…"

"Thank you, Adam. If you need anything, give us a call." Olivia handed him her card, tucking the sheet in her pocket. Adam remained seated as they left, not even giving them a glance as they stepped out the door.

"So fucked up…" He whispered, to no one and to everyone.


	22. Complicated

**la dee da- spring has sprung! I'm in a particularly nice mood, so I figured I'd make some progress on my favorite little fiction. (takes break to dance happily around room and sing very loudly) anyhow, interesting thing happened today, something that most of you probably don't care about but what makes me very happy…**

**Me: (all charming like) Mattie-dear, may I please have a candy bar? I don't have any money, but you are my favorite person ever.**

**Matt: sure. (because he can't deny my charmingness and my sexiness and besides, he is my candy boy and my horn whore)**

**Alex: I have bird flu. No guys, I really think I have bird flu.**

**All: (rolling eyes)**

**Kate: so hold up. Matt is waiting on me hand and foot and Alex has the bird flu. this is the greatest day ever!**

**so it is the greatest day ever. that probably is completely meaningless to you, but it isn't to me. it kicks ass, that's what it does! la dee dee da! (dances about again and rocks her body right)**

**the only thing not making it the greatest day ever is that we have these guys at our house installing a few new trees, and it is bugging the hell out of me. I am home alone right now, and it is only slightly creepy to try to use the bathroom and look out the window and see these twenty-something high school dropouts swinging around in your trees. waving, actually. and you flip out and close all the windows and blinds and wonder why the hell your parents would leave you to fend for yourself against these monkey-men. ach, where's Dorothy when you need her? or Toto at least…**

**this makes me think…do you know how many documents are in my Microsoft Word that have the title: 'la dee da' or something of the sort? well, A LOT.**

**anywhoo, here' some more intrigue. lovely lovely intrigue, it just makes my day. now I get to share some with you. and yes, I really do know EXACTLY how everything fits together. REALLY.**

**FELICITATIONS MY FIC-READING FLIST!**

…

The address was in Brooklyn Heights, and was not the dive Elliot had expected at all. Instead he was standing outside a sparkling new apartment building, staring up the twenty one floors as the rain began to fall in a gentle curtain across his face. And as though the curtain was being parted, she held a hand above his eyes, and shielded him from the cold.

He turned to her, seeing something like love in her eyes, but also something like fear. She wiped his brow with her fingertips, releasing into his gaze a new and promising smile.

The doorman let them in, seeing the badges and only raising his eyebrows a bit before stepping by. They filed past into a high-ceilinged lobby, with décor that was as rich and modern as they were sure the inhabitants were. She rested a finger against the elevator button, giving him a small and secret smile before the door opened and they stepped inside.

"I wouldn't say they left Katrina with nothing," She said quietly, standing beside him as the car rose nineteen floors. "I think I'd have to wait about fifteen years before my paycheck could afford anything like this."

"Vassar drop-out with no job and no income- yeah, I'd say her parents helped out a bit." He gave her a quick glance, his eyes laughing. She smiled more, but hid the expression as the door began to open.

"Good thing we called ahead of time." She whispered, knocking lightly on the door.

He nodded, staring at her as she turned in place, watching the hair falling into her eyes and the long fingered hand that pulled it back behind her ear. Her eyes were dark and apprehensive, but it only made her all the stronger.

When the door opened, they encountered even more surprises.

The apartment was not as large as he'd expected, but it was wide enough for one to think they were stepping into a great deal of money. The door opened directly onto a large room with a glass table and extensive fireplace, sunlight falling across the floor and making rainbows on the carpet beneath the table's surface. What was curious about the room itself was the choice of décor, because he felt himself watched by a hundred pairs of saintly eyes as he followed his partner inside, staring at the wide-eyed Madonnas and tear-stained faces of monks, their lips painted bright red upon their porcelain faces, making them look as though they had died a cold and well-known death before being preserved in their miniature states.

"Jesus…" Olivia whispered as she stared at all of them, lining the walls and sitting placidly on the tabletop.

"I don't have any of him, actually." A voice sounded from behind them, and they turned to find themselves staring into the half-familiar face of Katrina Bates, dark hair tied behind an angular face. The same sad eyes her brother had possessed protruded from similar cheekbones, her nose small and delicate as the ones on the figurines scattered about the room. "I inherited them from my Great Aunt, the whole lot of them. That's how it always goes, you know: my sisters get her villa in Buenos Aires and the house in the Keys, my brother gets the woman's fortune, and I get her collection of saint statues. That's how it's always been- don't leave anything to Katrina, or she'll waste it away. But I guess you can't get rid of a large number of porcelain saints in a wasteful fashion, right? Oh, I suppose I could sell them, but I don't know…" Her fingers brushed the face of the nearest one in an almost adoring gesture. "I'm growing rather fond of them, actually. Jonathan's always liked them anyhow."

She dropped into the chair behind her, gesturing for Olivia and Elliot to follow suit. "He's dead then, isn't he?"

Olivia leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "No one's told you?"

"Why would they? I don't belong to the Bates family anymore. I'm the lost soul, the black sheep. They were probably chomping at the bit for years to sign me away, to dump me on someone else's list of problems." She let out a small sigh, reaching for the half-empty wine glass that was hidden among the saints covering her table. She took a long drink, breathing slowly when she finally put it down. "Everyone hated me, but my sisters hated Jonathan. I was the object of their spite most of the time, but occasionally he'd be the one they'd blame, just because he was the perfect child. Daddy wanted a boy first, and he got my sisters, two years apart. I'm sorry for it, really; they're bitches, the two of them. Always have been, always will be. Daddy couldn't wait to marry them off to some yacht club bastards ready for a pair of trophy wives. But Jonathan was the right kid. Daddy loved him best, and he never tried to hide it."

Olivia coughed at this point, and Katrina looked up. "Do you want something to drink?"

"Just a water, thanks."

"All I have is alcohol."

"No tap water?"

"Oh…" Katrina blinked, staring at Olivia strangely. A lone tear rolled down her cheek suddenly, and she didn't bother to brush it away as it rested above her lip, a perfect pearl on the corner of her thin mouth. "You're right. I…forgot."

When the water was retrieved, Katrina sat back down, blinking as though dazed again. "You have to understand my family. Mom didn't love any of us, which is probably why she is still on a vacation to Greece she took in 1996. Daddy loved Jonathan, and no one else, and that's why the only person he ever talked to was Jonathan. My sisters loved themselves. Jonathan loved me, even though he shouldn't have. And I loved…well, I loved whoever didn't kick me in the ass and tell me I was shit." She took a deep breath. "I'm a suspect, aren't I? Dodgy person like me, I'm sure daddy told you I put a bullet through my brother's brain and sent you over here. Well, judge all you like. Arrest me, why don't you? But Jonathan was the only one who ever showed me any affection, and I'm not going to blow his head off for that. I'm a Bates whether I like it or not, and we pay our debts…and I still owe him big. He's the one that paid for this apartment. Couldn't have his sister living in a pisspot in Harlem; had to buy me some new penthouse with all the trimmings. That's what Jonathan was like: he did things without you asking, things you wanted but you could never ask for. He'd just do them, and he didn't care if you paid him back or not. He just liked the giving part."

She took a cigarette from her pocket and began to light it. Halfway through her first puff it dropped from her lips and fell onto her lap, where it left a dark stain on her thigh. She ignored it, even when it seemed to burn her skin.

"Katrina…" Olivia leaned over, pulling the sheet of paper from her pocket. "Do you know what this means?" Katrina took the paper with careful fingers, still not removing the cigarette from where it smoked and flared against her pants. "Your brother's roommate said he wrote these words down during phone calls with you."

Katrina's eyes hardly reacted to the paper, but something did spark in her expression, as though the cigarette in her lap was now burning dimly in the depths of her pupils. "He loved it." She smiled slowly, as though her face were thawing. "He always loved it."

"Loved what?"

"Our game. We played it when we were little, and I always wondered if he…" She bit her lip, trying not to cry. But the tear was already rolling down her cheek, splashing against the yellow page in her hands. Her grief was colliding with the last piece of him she had. She looked up at Olivia and Elliot. "You don't understand me…"

"I'm afraid not."

"He was schizophrenic, did you know? No, I suppose you wouldn't; daddy spent years erasing it from the records. In school, in college, work, everything. But Bates money silences everything you know, so it wasn't too much trouble. No one was supposed to know about Jonathan. He was getting the best treatment, and it really seemed to be working. But sometimes I wondered if it still haunted him…especially the people he talked about."

Elliot frowned. Something wasn't right. "Why did your father erase the records?"

Katrina gave him a small smile. "Jonathan is a Bates. He's the heir to Daddy's fortune, to our family company, to everything. Jonathan was the head of his class all through school, and doing better than anyone else in my family at college. But people hear schizophrenia and they think insane homeless people, not world corporation leader. I think sometimes Daddy thought that by erasing the records he could erase the disease too, but…" She paused, laughing uncomfortably. "I hated Jonathan when I was younger, you know that? I hated him because he could escape. He could always escape with his other friends and I just had to sit there and take whatever shit life threw at me. I remember this time when my mother was leaving for London, and Daddy was screaming at her, telling her not to go. Valerie took Jonathan and me upstairs to listen, just because she was a little bitch like that. She locked us in our parents' closet, then ran away giggling to herself. And I had to sit there and hear my father call my mother a 'lying fucking whore' for two hours. But not Jonathan. Jonathan didn't hear because Roger was covering his eyes and singing him a song."

"So Roger was one of his hallucinations?"

"One of many. Roger went away when he was about seven or eight; he was depressed for a week, but then this boy named Benjamin came. Tall, soccer or football player, something like that. He said Benjamin could drive a car, and he had a girlfriend. The doctor said Jonathan was imagining an older brother figure for himself. I don't know. Sometimes there'd be other ones: tall blonde women that looked like our mother, or this man who played chess. Jonathan played chess for hours with Andre. But they went away eventually, with the medications and all. When the medications didn't work, we'd play this game. I was little then, probably about nine or ten. I'd read a story out loud, and then Benjamin would tell him his favorite word from every sentence. He was right every time, too. One word from every single sentence in a 100 page story. We did it in conversations later; Jonathan thought it was the greatest thing. It must be that he was writing down one word from all my sentences in the phone conversations as well. So I guess…" She looked at the paper, smiling again. "I guess Benjamin was still there."

"This is all very helpful, Katrina." Olivia gave her a warm smile. "Thank you."

"I think…I think I want to stop now. I can do that, right? I can stop?"

"Whenever you need to." Olivia handed her the familiar business card, indicating the number on it. "Call us when you're ready again."

"I will." Katrina smiled softly at the Madonna figure directly across from her. "I'm an atheist, you know." She said quietly, turning to Olivia. "I'm not crazy; I don't worship these things or anything. It's just…I grew up without anyone. Jonathan always had someone. Everyone always had someone else. And now I still…" A stray finger rested on a saintly head, and she traced a circle around a faded halo. "I'm not so lonely with them around, actually."

"I know." Olivia whispered, nodding before walking out the door. Elliot followed behind, resting a hand on her arm, hoping she could pull him out of the darkness he felt around them. A hundred pairs of eyes watched them go, and then turned back to the woman now weeping in her chair, face clouded by a thousand memories and two bottles of chardonnay.

…

She was in a church. She didn't know why, since her lack of religious obligations kept her away from those sorts of places, but that's where she was.

Her eyes rose to follow the ceiling arching high above her, and then followed a marble floor down the church's length. It was empty, and cold, and silent.

It was frightening, really.

She stepped down the row of pews before her, waiting for something. Someone. Anyone. She paused when she saw the red pool on the floor. _Wine. _She thought, oddly enough. A chalice lay beside the pool, casting a silver glare in her eyes from the chandelier lights reflected upon it.

But when her finger dipped into the pool and met her tongue, it was not a sweet but a metallic sensation hat entered her mouth. She spat, realizing she had tasted blood.

And then she found the source. For trickling down her forehead and dripping off of either side of her face was a steady stream of blood. She caught the chalice in trembling fingers and met her reflection in its center. There was a hole in her forehead, dark and sinister and pouring out her life's blood.

She would have fainted, yet something kept her conscious. Perhaps it was the blood now dripping down her thighs. But this was not the musty month's blood. This was blood from a deeper source, from a womb she had yet to tap, a pain she had yet to feel. And then it struck her in a great wave of horror. She doubled over, fighting for the breath to scream. For it was as though she were being raped from within.

…

Olivia shot upright in bed, clutching the sheets to her naked form, touching trembling fingers to a brow now permeated with sweat. The darkness of the room met her with stagnant defiance, a stubborn reminder of her surroundings. It was night. She had been asleep. It was only a dream.

A hand stroked her shoulder, another going to her bed. "Liv!" Elliot ran a finger across her face, cool and calming. "Liv? Are you alright?" He was sitting upright as well, pulling her closer as the sobs overtook her body, as the tears began to roll down her face.

"Ssh," He whispered, rocking her back and forth as he would a child. She felt so safe in his arms, so warm and soft and full of life…yet she was still cold. She held her hand to her forehead, half relieved to fell it whole. Half-frightened by the memory that still lingered in the touch of her own hands. "It was just a dream, Liv. Just a dream." His words were so warm, so perfect in the night air that fled before them.

She was so glad he was here.

She'd almost sent him away when she'd seen the men parked outside her apartment building, giving her a small nod as she'd entered, Elliot not following far behind.

"El…you can't stay. Cragen has men everywhere."

"They're not inside your apartment, are they?"

"Well, no, but you know how he is…"

"Liv…" He touched a finger to her lips as they entered the elevator. "I told Cragen I'd spend the night with you, to make sure you were safe. And he was okay with it."

"He didn't flip out or anything?"

"No." Elliot smiled one of those I-know-something-vaguely-mysterious smiles.

God, she would die a thousand deaths for the secret of that smile.

"You know, I don't think Cragen knowing about all this would be a horrible thing." He said quietly, eyeing her carefully, studying her reaction. "He knew about you and Cassidy and he didn't have a problem."

"What?" She spun around, eyes widening. "He knew about that?"

"Yeah. He was the one who came up to me and asked what I thought about it."

"What?" She grabbed his collar, pulling him closer. "And you were going to tell me all of this _when_?"

"Liv, calm down." He took a deep breath, but she still saw the amusement in his eyes. The bastard was enjoying this, damn him. "Cragen asked me if I thought anything was going to come of you two, that's all. He figured I had a pretty good handle on what was going on, and I told him what I knew."

She couldn't help but glare at him. "Which was?"

"That it wasn't going to go anywhere."

She paused, her eyes taking in this rare expression on his brilliant face, glowing softly in the dim lights of the elevator.

"Why did you say that?"

"Because it was true. Everybody gets drunk and has something with their partner. Everybody."

"What about _your_ old partner, El? Any wasted flings?" She grinned mischievously, her mouth spreading open in such a way that it made her heart flutter.

Elliot rolled his eyes. "We were both guys, Liv."

She continued to smile. "Hey, I've seen Brokeback Mountain. I know what happens out on the range."

He shook his head, smiling as he wrapped his hand beneath her arm. "Well, that's good for the cops in Montana, but the rest of us don't swing both ways on the force."

They left the elevator, taking slow and heavy steps to her door. Neither wanted to leave the conversation behind, and neither wanted to begin something new and more exciting.

At least in the verbal category.

A second round of sex had been amazing, but it had been desperate, too. She had clung to him in such a way that she swore their bodies had become an absolute one, one heart beating for two.

One soul flying forth with one set of broken wings.

She was afraid to let him go now, as he caressed her back into bed, telling her it was alright, relieving her of her tensions. Elliot Stabler was suddenly just a distant shadow now, her heart still bent as it twisted and tore through the faded memory of a dream. She couldn't leave it. Not yet.

"Liv…I've got you." She fell back into his arms, her bare back hitting the skin of his chest. His hands came to rest before her breasts, one finger grazing the dark nipple as it floated to her side.

"Is it wrong, Elliot?" She whispered it to the night.

"What?" He groaned, rolling over a bit, his hands remaining in front of her.

"Is this…" She was indicating whatever it was this was; the sex, the hands, the hearts, everything. "Is this wrong?"

He didn't reply immediately, but when he did he said it quickly enough to turn back onto his pillow and hide his face from her sight.

"It's complicated."


	23. Mistake

**SPRING-BREAK-WOO-HOO!**

**god, I love spring break. no school. no work. all play. all the time.**

**too bad I caught some damn stomach virus. you know, I don't think a week goes by when I don't get sick. and yes, there are some medical issues involved that may have a hand in such occurrences, but STILL. is life fair? sometimes I wonder…**

**no, I don't wonder. I know it's not.**

**but enough of my complaining, really. it's too sunny out to be in such a gripy mood. **

**I am loving this story. partially because I love confusing the hell out of people (to a point) and partially getting into the case is such a ball. I'm sitting here with my Kingdom of Heaven OST blaring, and my barf bucket at my feet, and a blanket around my trembling shoulders, and just TOTALLY LOVING LIFE! **

**HAYAO MIYAZAKI FEST AT MY HOUSE TONIGHT! WOOT WOOT! If you happen to randomly be passing through the upstate New York area and by chance note an old white colonial house with a lot of bouncing people inside, COME ON IN! **

**perverts and stalkers and creepos, that was NOT an invitation. (scoff) besides, if you come near I will sick the SPECIAL VICTIMS DETECTIVES on you. **

**Elliot: growl**

**yeah, see? they are very dangerous! almost as dangerous as say…the bird flu. but if you come near here, I will most definitely sick you with THE BIRD FLU!**

**Bird Flu: rawr**

**yeah, be prepared. **

**I hate the filthy rich, in case you can't tell. spoiled buggers with their yachts and their keg parties. and they don't invite me! (sob) despite my lack of boobs and my strong distaste for alcohol, I'm _slightly_ a potential beer whore. SLIGHTLY.**

**actually, I have no potential at all. so I guess I'm stuck being a nerdy writer forever. (sigh)**

**you all need some OE in your lives. thus it is I, Kate the Gracious but Narcissist Giver, gives it to you. voila! **

**some exciting things about this chapter: Casey comes! yes, I am sure at least one of you said: 'this story needs Casey' so Casey you get. because who else is Olivia gonna spill to? also, I teach everyone a valuable safe sex lesson: no love without the glove. see what happens? and finally, I may be an atheist, but I am not trying to be sacrilegious in this chapter. you will see what I mean. (and try to tell me this is NOT one of your biggest sex fantasies, people.)**

**I say no more, so you must read. get to the goods, good friends!**

…

He wasn't accustomed to being this comfortable. That's why he had to shake the feeling off as he rolled out of bed, sifting through the sheets piled on either side of the bed to find his pants. No luck. Not even a sock.

"Liv!" He called, not finding her where he'd left her, curled up beside him and letting him run a finger along her thigh. "Liv, where are my pants?"

"I'm doing the laundry." She said, her head appearing in the doorway briefly before disappearing, leaving only the faint scent of coffee to invade his nostrils and tempt his tortured senses.

_Shit._

"So what am_ I_ supposed to wear?" He yelled back, rolling his eyes and groaning as he pulled her sheets back onto the mattress, covering his lower half. God, had they made _that_ much of a mess last night?

"Oh," She looked apprehensive as she appeared again, walking to his side and examining the situation firsthand. "I see. _Well_, why don't you just wrap a sheet around you until I'm done?"

"Great," He said, rolling his eyes at her unhelpful advice, though he did as he was told. "Brings me back to my frat days."

Olivia laughed lightly, though her eyebrows were still raised in unspoken suspension.

"Liv," He caught her arm before she could leave, pulling her closer. She remained standing even when his touch beckoned her to the bed. "Something up?"

"No, everything's fine." She shrugged, pulling out of his grasp. Her eyes were not meeting his though, and her body seemed joined in motion with the breeze floating through the open window, flitting and flying by with the hastened rush of the frightened spring, still looking over its shoulder to see if the fatal grasp of winter was not far behind.

"Liv…" He gave her a something-is-up-and-you-damn-well-know-it look, but she didn't seem to respond. "Olivia, what's going on?"

She paused in her flight, turning to him with eyes wide and exposed. "Elliot, did we…" She let out a short laugh, rubbing the back of her neck with an uncomfortable hand. "God, I can't believe I'm asking this. It's just…I don't remember everything very well after things like _this_, and you can't really let it pass by without knowing…well…" She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath.

"Yes, we had sex." He said simply. It wasn't strange anymore. It was almost…thrilling to say it. To realize it. To know it. To know deep in your heart you'd finally tasted happiness.

"I know that." She said, laughing again, or at least trying to laugh. It didn't come out very well. "But did we use…"

At this, he too had to pause. Because no, they hadn't. Neither time. And yeah, he was safe, and he was pretty damn sure she was safe, but…god, she was a woman. Women could never be completely safe if it was…raw and whatnot. And what if…

"No, we didn't. Are you…are you on the pill?"

"No Elliot, I'm not." Her voice broke and raised in its volume. She rubbed her temples with a trembling hand, collapsing onto the bed beside him. "Goddamn it, El. I haven't had a sexual relationship in over a year. Why the hell would I be on the pill?" Her voice was frantic now, flying past his ears. He grabbed her shoulder as though to hold her to earth before she disappeared into the silver sky.

"Hey, Liv…" He took a deep breath. "These things…we'll figure it out. Don't worry."

"Don't tell me not to worry." She ran a stray hand through her hair, avoiding his eye. "Damn it, Elliot. We can't just…we can't just _do_ something like this and think it's going to be okay. This is so…" She stood up, pacing at the front of the bed. He sat motionless, helpless, watching her go with pain in his eyes. Pain he somehow could not express.

"Liv…" He whispered, watching the fragile line of existence they'd created beginning to pull apart before his eyes.

"No," She froze in place, her eyes widening. "I can't…do this."

He frowned. "Can't do what?"

"I can't do something like this." She made her way to the door, her back speeding out of view. He took to his feet, sheet wrapped around his middle.

"Liv! What are-"

"I can't do this right now." She cried over her shoulder, hands now to her face in a desperate gesture. He reached for her arm, her shoulder, anything. But she was pulling away. She was tearing herself away from him. And for what?

"Liv, listen to me-"

"No, Elliot." She spun on her heel, and he found her eyes before him, filled with the helpless tears of a woman lost. "Please. I'm so sorry…but…I can't do this anymore."

"Liv, you…you don't…"

"We can't be off doing…_this_…right now, and I can't…I can't get myself involved."

"What?" He felt the world beginning to crumble, one lonely piece at a time. First went his heart, cracking down the very middle. "So what was all _that_ then? So the sex means _nothing_ to you? That's not _involvement_?"

"The sex means I could be pregnant, Elliot!" She screamed back, her eyes flashing in the dim light of daybreak. "We just jumped right into this without even thinking! Do you know what kind of a risk we're taking?"

"We've already taken it, and we've been doing it for as long as I can remember! For Christ's sake Liv, didn't you want this?"

"Of course I…" She covered her eyes, letting out a dry sob. "Damn it El, we shouldn't have even fucking started."

"Liv…" He reached out a warm hand but she pushed it away with all of her might, her eyes narrowing.

"No, Elliot. It's over."

"You don't…want this?"

"No, I don't."

His heart seemed to be gasping for breath, drowning in the blood she was spilling over it. "But we…you never…"

"I'm sorry." She whispered, her eyes filling with unchecked tears. And it was all she could say, he knew that. She left the room, slamming her bedroom door behind her.

He went to the basement of the building and pulled his clothes from the washing machines, still wet. He shrugged them on, shivering as the moist denim met his skin. He didn't mind and he didn't feel and he didn't know.

He was just dead. Dead to the world and dead to himself.

And most of all, dead to her.

…

The door to the office was open, as usual, but Olivia knocked anyway, her knuckles rapping against mahogany with painful results. Everything hurt today. Everything.

"Yes?" The redhead looked up from her desk, blinking at the visitor and putting down the pen in her hand. "Olivia," She smiled, beckoning at the seat before her. "What's up?"

"Are you busy? I'm sorry," Olivia remained in the doorway, eyeing the folders on Casey's desk. The woman shook her head, still smiling.

"Actually, I'm four files and three hours ahead of where the DA wants me. So you arrived at the perfect time," She leaned back in her chair, grinning when Olivia took the seat ahead of her. "You want some coffee? They just put in a cappuccino machine on the second floor, and it's rather tasty…"

Olivia shook her head, her hands trembling. Her head was swimming, and she felt as though at any moment her breakfast was going to end up on Casey's desktop. Her own words were floating through her mind like discarded trash, being replayed over and over in a vicious cycle she couldn't ignore.

"Casey, I didn't know who else to come to. You have to understand…I never…"

Casey leaned forward, frowning. She stared at her friend, her eyes narrowing in earnest misunderstanding. "Liv, what's this about?"

"I've just…I think..." She looked up into her eyes, her voice choking with each word. "I think I've just lost him."

"Who?"

"I mean, I said it was about the sex. I thought it was about the sex, but it really wasn't. It was just waking up and having him there, in my bed…_in my bed_. _His_ bed was fine; it wasn't my bed. But my bed…my house…naked in my house. He walked around in a _sheet_, for Christ's sake. In _my_ apartment. The apartment that I shower in and get sick in and have monthly _tantrums_ in. You know, we _could_ have-" She was just rambling at this point, eyes and hands flying through the air, unable to focus. Casey grabbed her wrist suddenly, and she froze, her voice dying on the spot.

Casey stared at her with the hard-ADA eyes she seldom used on her close companions. "Who the hell are you having sex with?"

Olivia took a deep breath, feeling the well of emotion in her chest beginning to overflow, running over the cracked walls of her heart and spilling down her soul. "Elliot."

"You're having sex with Elliot?" Casey's eyes were an abnormally large size. "Since when?"

"Um…two night ago, actually."

"What was the occasion?" Casey stopped herself, taking a deep breath. "No, I'm sorry…I didn't mean it that way. It's just…_wow_. You two have always had the sexual tension thing going, but I had no idea you were actually going to…"

"Fulfill the office prophecy?"

Casey bit her lip, eyes going to her hands, now shifting the files with awkward movements on her desk. "Well, yes…" She suddenly gave Olivia a curious glance. "And you 'lost him'? You mean you broke up?"

"I told him I couldn't do _this_ anymore. Which is pretty moronic anyway, since we've only been at _this_ for two days." She let out a deep sigh. "God, I was such a fucking idiot."

"No, it's alright…" Casey lightly touched her friend's palm, giving her fingers a sudden but warm squeeze. "So you two just decided to…get together?"

"I don't know…" She ran her fingers through her hair, as if to cleanse her mind of the vapid thoughts running through it. "One day we were just awkward partners, not knowing what to say to each other without feeling like fools. And then suddenly…we realized how short it could be. How little time we had left. And we sort of said it."

"Said what?"

"We said we loved each other. And then all of a sudden we were in bed. I mean, it didn't happen _that_ quickly. We took it slow for maybe a day or two. And then out of nowhere we're having sex."

"Do you regret it?"

"What?" She blinked, not comprehending. Not with his face still fresh in her mind.

"Do you regret it? Having sex?"

"Oh god, no. It was…it was amazing." She allowed herself a small smile, remembering the ecstasy of those blinding moments beneath him. "I wouldn't take back those nights for anything in the world."

"Was it safe?"

"Casey…" Olivia bit her lip, trying to smile and shrug it off. But she couldn't.

"Was it?"

"No." She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. Breathing in the shadow around her. "And that's why I said I wanted it to end. I thought I was angry. I thought we'd taken too much of a risk. That we were just jumping in without thinking. But it wasn't that." She examined her hands, suddenly so thin in her sight. "I woke up and saw him in my bed. I woke up and I was lying in Elliot Stabler's arms. And his hands were on my fucking breasts. Elliot Stabler's hands." She could kick herself. "I had no idea how to handle waking up with Elliot Stabler's fucking hands on my fucking boobs, so I panicked."

"You've brought guys home before, haven't you?"

"Well yeah, a few. But not _Elliot_. You see Elliot next to you and suddenly it's like your whole future is just…"

She gasped. _Your future._

_Oh christ._

_Elliot, you're the only future I've ever had. I've built everything around it._

_So why am I so fucking afraid?_

Casey smiled suddenly, leaning back in her chair. "You can really see yourself with him for a long time, can't you?"

"Forever…" She whispered, feeling a tear forming in her eye. One lone tear to wipe away one lone memory. "And now I've just driven him away. I told him I was afraid of getting pregnant and being dependent and not knowing what was going on. I told him I was afraid of getting too involved. But I was really just afraid of ever letting go."

"So what are you going to do?"

"That's why I came here, Case. What the fuck am I supposed to do?"

Casey smirked, shrugging. "What do _you_ think?"

"I don't know. Call him? Go to his house? Explain whatever the hell I did to him?"

"Sounds good to me." Casey gave her friend a warm smile. "You have to tell him the truth, Liv. That's all he wants to hear, you know."

"You think so?"

"I've been through some of the worst breakups known to man, and trust me, I never had any reason to go back to these losers. But you can't just give this up if you're still in love. Do you think people don't have relationship issues all the time? You're supposed to do stupid things when you're in love. It comes with the territory."

"Thanks, Case." Olivia smiled, standing up, catching her breath. "I…I'll see you later, then."

"I might just need you for the Hannett trial tomorrow. I'll call you, Liv." And she knew she'd call whether or not it was for a case.

"Thanks. Really."

And she walked out the door, leaving something of the shadow behind, finding something brilliant to wear over her heart instead.

…

On his knees. That's where he could figure things out. Where the world was a simpler, gentler place. And if it wasn't always gentler, then at least he could deal with it here. At least there was someone else to keep it up for him.

Yet prayer could not satisfy Elliot Stabler today. The velvet covered kneelers of St. Matthew's were hardly repose for his weary mind, the empty pews before him only reminders of his loneliness. A few more of the faithful were scattered about the church, heads bowed and rosaries lifted. But Elliot didn't feel like praising any God today. Today he just wanted to damn himself to hell and leave it at that.

_I don't know what I did to her. What did I do to her?_

_And I don't know why I left. I should have stayed. Isn't that the right thing, staying?_

_Am I supposed to call her? Am I supposed to try to make amends first, to show I forgave her?_

_And am I supposed to be having sex with her at all before the divorce is even final?_

_Sorry about that, God. I'll say 15 Hail Mary's for that one, I promise._

There were soft footsteps echoing down the row of pews as someone else entered the church, taking long but hesitant strides down the hall. He didn't turn, but kept to his prayer, kept to asking God for something. Anything.

But then the footsteps stopped at his row, and he turned to look into those eyes. Her eyes.

"What…"

"I need to talk with you." She slid in beside him, both of them trembling when their bodies unexpectedly touched. "I…I didn't mean it. I'm sorry."

"How did you find me?"

"A good guess," She stared at him, her eyes wide and meaningful. He reached out a wary hand, touching the soft skin of her cheek, stroking a finger against the tear forming on her eyelid. "I'm so sorry, El. I never meant it."

"I know." He said it simply, because it was true. He'd known she didn't mean it. He'd known she'd never give him up. He'd known he couldn't give her up at all. "I'm sorry I left."

"I'm not worried, El. I don't care about getting pregnant or getting too involved. I just know I can't do anything without you. I know I can't feel without you, and for that I'm afraid."

"Then don't be."

And just like that, he kissed her. He leaned forward and grabbed her shoulders and kissed her. It was one of those kisses you never forget, because of how long it lasts and how hard you are trying. And how amazing it feels. God, it was fucking amazing. Only a few hours away from her and already he'd begun to miss her kisses like mad.

They went quietly to the backstairs beneath the choir loft, and there he kissed her again. Again and again.

"Elliot…Elliot, I really do need you." She whispered it in his ear as she removed his jacket, pulling off the tie he'd struggled to put on that day.

"I know." He was taking off her shirt, loving every button he undid, longing for every inch of skin that was revealed. "I know…"

…

"Father forgive me for I have sinned. It has been four weeks since my last confession."

Elliot watched the screen shift momentarily as the priest's shadow flickered behind it, making the sign of the cross. "God bless you my, son. What are your sins?"

"I took the lord's name in vain countless times, father."

"Five Hail Mary's, and ten Our Father's. Dwell on Our Lord's sacredness.

"I hated a man, Father. I hated him so much I wanted him dead."

"Five Apostle's Creeds. Remember we are to love one another, no matter our neighbor's failings."

"I had sex in the back of the church with a woman I am not married to."

There was a coughing sort of noise from the other side of the screen, and then an all-out choke.

"Father?" Elliot peered around the curtain, catching a glimpse of the young priest now coughing horrifically into his tissue. "Father?"

And despite his sins, Elliot Stabler could not help smiling.


	24. And The Author Speaks AGAIN

**okay. I have an excuse for not updating in so long. **

**AP EXAMS. THEY SUCK ASS. AND THEY TAKE UP ALL YOUR TIME.**

**(plus I have myself a relationship and all sorts of other emotional goodies, so you can imagine…)**

**at any rate, I PROMISE TO UPDATE THIS WEEKEND. PROMISE. A SUPER DUPER PROMISE.**

**BECAUSE I KNOW YOU'RE ALL PROBABLY DYING OUT THERE AND I DON'T HONESTLY BLAME YOU.**

**I'm a bitch. it's true. let's all sing the bitch song.**

**or not. my mind is exhausted I have a World History AP exam tomorrow so you have ot excuse my rambling. at any rate, I will add more. in the meantime, I have a few new things posted at scullyastrinity's brainchild eoshippers- a livejournal community for crazy asses like us. so if you want some of my shorter actually quite good stuff, check that place out. **


	25. Threat

**okay, the long-awaited update is here. it is here because a.) time has finally found me, its forsaken friend b.) I am just so damn nice and c.) the thought of keeping all these fans waiting and in complete shambles gives me a slightly guilty conscience. so you know me, the wonderful person I am, and I knew that deep-down inside you have all felt utterly incomplete without the benefits of your daily OE dosage. the fact of the matter is this: ending a story on an uplifting sex-in-church note and then not updating for weeks is a cruel and insensible thing. I solemnly swear I will not do it again.**

**for those of you truly dedicated fans, an update on my seemingly small and insignificant life: AP examination-ness has finished. so I am officially no longer highstrung about that. and I know I got at least a four because I found the whole thing to be kind of contrite and altogether easy. I have begun a semi-friends-with-benefits ordeal and it is going pretty swimmingly. **

**and now, for what you need. what you crave. what above all you seek.**

**(a special word to those of you that read your friends' fellow reviews: I am listening to your suggestions. and have officially agreed to two of them. so two of you will be very happy very very soon.)**

**WAHAHAHA, the power I have over this menial world. it just pwns. **

**by the way….this chapter is a few days after the last one. I'm going to start putting gaps in here and there so the damn thing can move along at quicker pace.**

…

Everything can be so simple until you think about it. And then you're chasing after truths you're not even entirely sure exist, caught in a dizzying dance with love and life and insurance agents, tossed onto a strange and unfamiliar shore some call relationships.

But here he was, divorced, detached, whatever you wanted to call it…and feeling strangely normal. He had no desire to run after lost lives, or reach for the unattainable horizon. In this, his own dream, his own dance, he was oddly content. He didn't need to think about anything but the simple things he'd come to cherish: the cup of coffee in the morning, the warm pair of socks, cool evenings, quiet snowfalls. That place behind her ear where his mouth always rested when he was inside her.

He glanced up from the desk drawers he was clearing out, summoning command over suddenly whirling senses as her eyes met his, dizzyingly deep. She smiled softly, the small expression only he knew the meaning of.

There was movement above her left shoulder, and he glanced past the locks of her hair to see a tall blonde entering the room, pulling off her oversized white sunglasses and flexing a dangerous eyebrow towards him.

"Benson and Stabler," She announced, stopping the conversations in the room with the command in her voice.

Olivia turned in her seat, giving the woman a willing smile and waving slightly. "Over here."

"Valerie Bates," The woman said, pushing her sunglasses into her auburn hair. "My family lawyer will be arriving shortly."

"For what?"

Valerie glanced around the room, giving its contents a disapproving sneer. "Clarifications."

Olivia stood up, frowning. "I'm sorry. I don't think-"

"I'll need a word with you and your partner in private, Ms. Benson. I can speak with your captain later."

"But I would think-"

"Interrogation room C," Elliot interjected quickly, giving his partner a small nudge in the small of her back. This did not look like the woman who had any chance of being questioned on anything but her own terms. Besides, he remembered the stories about this one, and had no wish to summon the Satanic bitch Katrina had so 'lovingly' spoke of.

An older man in a business suit, whose graying hair and well-aged features only gave hints of how good-looking he must have been at one time, followed behind them as they entered the room, Elliot locking the door as Valerie instructed.

"Well, let's get down to it, shall we?" Valerie set her large and pale eyes on both of them as she sat across from them, her lawyer appraising them both with mixed reactions. "My brother has been wrongfully connected with a rape case. On behalf of the Bates family and my father's immediate wishes, I am here to remove his name from any further proceedings and erase all records of his connections with your case."

Elliot shifted uncomfortably in his seat, feeling the tension build up in the leg beside him as she pressed closer to him. "I think you had better discuss this with our ADA, Miss Bates."

"That's not really necessary." She said, nodding to her lawyer, who quickly had a suitcase ready and was pulling out a number of papers. "We're all on equal terms here, aren't we? We simply need your signatures and any documents containing my brother's name."

"This is classified information, Miss Bates." Olivia leaned forward. "And there is no law that grants us permission to obstruct or change official documentation of the New York Police Department."

"I see," Valerie bit her lip, glancing from one detective to another. She reached into her pocket, pulling out a checkbook. "We don't entirely understand one another, Miss Benson. You see, the Bates family has a very long and important legacy, one that has been upheld since the 1790's and one that will continue to be upheld for as long as we wish it. I am willing to give you anything: simply name the price."

"How about this- you and your lawyer take your checkbook and go, and my partner and I will get back to our jobs." Olivia said hotly, arms folding across her chest. Elliot pressed his knee into her thigh, begging with his body for her to stop.

"Miss Benson, I normally wouldn't do this, but…" Valerie began to scribble out a check, passing it across the table. "And my father will triple the price if needed."

"This is a check for one million dollars." Olivia stared, blinking down at the small paper before her. She glanced back up at the smugly smiling woman across the table. "You really think I'm going to risk for my job for your money?"

"With the prices I'm offering, you don't _need_ a job. I just need my brother's name cleared. It's a sister's debt, you might say."

"Right. You can't disown him for it, since he's dead and all, so instead you have to come and do the dirty work yourself." Olivia frowned. "It's almost worth pitying you, Miss Bates. Give your brother hell for all his life and only truly redeem yourself when he's gone. How sad."

Valerie's eyes flashed menacingly. "I know you've already spoken to Katrina. The whore's probably told you all sorts of stories about how I ruined her childhood and made Jonathan into some sort of lost soul or something. But the truth is that while she sulked around and rubbed our faces in all her stupid little problems, I was the only one doing anything for the family. Everything I have done has been for the Bates name. Jonathan was successful because he was the son Daddy always wanted. I had to work my ass off to get any recognition from my father, which was never enough, and then after everything I'd done for the damn company, he gives it to Jonathan, who rubs it in my face and becomes a whole bastard about everything. Someone was bound to kill him eventually, the way he paraded around with our name on his back. Yet here I am, still doing Daddy's work, still trying to get that last word out of him. I've never deserved pity because I have never given anyone the time to give it."

The room fell silent. The door was opening, a frantic looking Casey stepping in.

"This ends here." She said, stepping quickly to the table. She picked up the documents on the table, giving them a cold frown. "This meeting is about as legal as these documents, and these are the biggest pieces of bullshit I've seen in a while."

"Right," Valerie stared across the table at Olivia, her eyes dark and dangerous. "I'll be on my way, then. Come alone Andrew." She stood up, heading for the door. But before she left, she turned to Olivia. "No hard feelings, right?"

Olivia did not respond. She was watching the woman go with a cold expression in her eye, a mixture of hatred…and of fear.

"Did I mention I hate rich people?" She whispered as they took their seats at the desk, his knee instinctively pressing against hers.

"I have a feeling that won't be the last time we see her." Elliot said quietly, taking a small sip of his coffee. Damn. It was cold already.

"Or her lawyer. Pushy bitch is not going to rest until her family name's been 'cleared' or whatever, I guarantee it. But the motive! My god, there's no doubt in my mind now who killed Jonathan. That bitch has wanted him dead ever since he was born."

"The question remains though…" He stared longingly at the cold coffee, and then met her eyes. "Who is telling the truth here? They both have different viewpoints, of course, but the pictures they're painting of Jonathan are pretty different. One says he's an angel, the other thinks he's an asshole."

"Well, Katrina was loathed by everyone but Jonathan, so of course she'll think so highly of him. And she hasn't really known the person Jonathan was with his family in a number of years. He could have been someone entirely different around her than when he was with the Bates, especially considering the 'treat everyone like shit' standards they seem to withhold."

"So who is Jonathan Bates anyway?"

"And how did he know about me?"

"Lauren Tracy, you mean."

Olivia sighed quietly, her fingers running through her hair as her eyes wandered across the room. He desperately wanted to reach out and take her hands in his own, remind her of where they were. Keep her on the ground even when she seemed to be struggling against the sun.

"Are you coming over tonight?" She whispered, letting her fingers fall into his palm. "I'd really like…I just…"

"I'll be there." He said, closing his palm around her hand. "I promise."

…

She'd had two more glasses of white wine than she'd needed. She was officially drunk, officially in love, officially in love with the paper cup that was resting on the corner of her kitchen counter. It was the color of a pill she hadn't taken this morning, and she distinctly remembered putting it in the dishwasher last night. Only that wasn't right. She couldn't put a paper cup in the dishwasher. Or maybe she had dreamt about it, because there had been a giant plate with a little girl sitting in it, and a wool hat she hadn't worn since college. And someone had been standing at the top of a mountain, throwing things off. Like her cutlery. What the fuck were they doing with her cutlery?

It didn't matter. She was stumbling into her apartment, hands wrapped around the back of his neck, fiddling with his collar and pulling off an already loose tie.

His shirt was off. How had that happened? But so were her pants, and that wasn't surprising. They fell backwards into the door of her bedroom, laughing as they hit the floor. She collapsed onto his bare chest, and then her mouth hit skin. Her mouth hit skin and her mind began to melt even faster than before.

He reached for her bra strap- teasing, tantalizing. She was being pressed against the door again; her legs were pulled up as he came to replace her lower half.

"Fuck," She whispered in his ear as he began to breathe harder against her cheek, and it was a command, not a curse. He obeyed, hands moving to her shoulders as he slid down her thighs.

But then there was a sound. A gunshot. In her state of mind, it was far away. It wasn't even a part of this world. Yet it was. He was pushing her to the ground, covering her with strong hands, running to the window. She fell over, staring in confusion.

There was blood on the door. Why was there blood on the door?

She stared at, frowning at the stain like rose petals against the pale porcelain she was leaning on.

He was yelling something, and the room was falling with her. Everything was falling. Tumbling. Tumbling into the sky.

She reached for his hand, reached for his leg, reached for his cock for Christ's sake, whatever it was her memory was spitting out before her. She was drunk once. But now she thought she was dead.

She heard her name in his voice, something warm around her body. But then someone was kicking her, and she was screaming.

And then it was red.

And black.

And cold.

"Olivia!" Elliot was crying as he floated past her on the fire escape, then vanished against the smoky landscape as something dark took him backwards.

She shuddered and embraced her womb.


	26. Fear

**apologies to everyone weirded out by the last little chappie. recall: liv was drunk, exhausted, and having an orgasm. so it only figures she'd be all wiggedy-wack when someone started shooting at them. yeah, that's what happened. someone shot at them. and there might have been blood, though that could have been her imagination, so you don't really know what happened, do you? only I do, wahahahahahaha. (pwns the power)**

**okay, so you all deserve some decent chapter-ness. some decent drama. I mean, I watched last week's episode. it was fairly good, except for that last scene. I mean yes, I was singing happily when Olivia came back. but did anyone else hear the OEness bawling in the corner? I was waiting for them to jump across the desk at one another and start ripping the clothes off but NOOOOOOOO, Dickie has to go and spoil my fun. I swear to god, that man just KNOWS when I want something just so he can go and NOT give it to me. **

**anywhoo, here comes some drama. some love. some stretching-of-the-love-lines. because I think that even after all this attacking and sort-of-breaking-up and general chaos the relationship needs to be tested further, don't you? **

**and of course Maureen goes to Barnard. that's my dream school, and where I'll be going (hopefully) in two years.**

**happy reading, my darlings!**

**(this chapter is officially dedicated to Katherine, who deserves a decent chapter after the confuzzlement of the last one.) **

…

It was three in the morning when she'd gotten the call.

She'd been dreaming about playing hopscotch with her younger sisters, smiling at the sun shining down on the colored chalk they'd scratched across the asphalt surface, hopping on one foot up and down their street. But then she'd been awoken by the urgent shaking of her shoulders. She found Donna, her roommate, standing over her, cordless phone in one hand while the other rested on her hip.

"Maureen. It's for you."

She blinked, rubbing her left eye with a weary fist. The internship at the firm found her home a little after eleven during the week, but Donna had just aced an Advanced Trigonometry midterm and wanted to celebrate with a bottle of champagne. She'd only been in bed for an hour, yet it felt like she'd slept for days. Donna never slept anyway- the European Lit major ran on black coffee and Altoids- but Maureen needed her rest. The internship was running her down, and today had been especially draining.

Yet there was the call.

"Hello?" She wheezed into the receiver, rubbing her eye again and suppressing a yawn.

"Maureen Stabler?"

"Yes, that's me."

"This is the Emergency Room at Mercy Hospital. Your father gave us your number as an emergency contact."

"My father?" She felt her stomach flip. "What's wrong?"

But in less than a minute she knew. And she was flying towards the door.

"I'll drive you." Donna said, throwing a sweatshirt on over her sports bra and handing Maureen her Barnard shirt. "Jesus, where are my keys?"

The car ride seemed hours long. Yet she was out of the parking garage and into the elevator in less than a second, Donna following behind.

Things were flying through her head that she'd never even considered before. Things like funeral costs and how many black dresses she owned and life insurance policies. Oh Christ, what if she was too late? What if…what if…what if it was over?

The stale smell of the hospital hit her like a slap in the face as the doors to the elevator opened. She hated hospitals. Hated them with a passion.

The signs to the ER were marked in bright blue, and she was beginning to lose her breath as she staggered past the doors, weaving between the gurney carts and the nurses. But then she was at the front desk, hands clenched into tight fists as they rested on the counter.

"My name is Maureen Stabler. I'm here to see my father, Elliot Stabler."

The woman looked down at a selection of files in her drawer, and then back up at Maureen. She gave her a good look-over before replying, taking in the mismatched socks and dirty sweats with a sad smile.

"They moved him upstairs, honey. Third floor, room…" She checked her file again. "Room 3B. Take the elevator on the left, and then it should be four rooms past the reception desk." She smiled at her again. "He has the window, honey."

"Thank you," She breathed, following the woman's directions upstairs.

His room was cold, dark. The occupant of the bed beside the door was sleeping, snoring as his television continued to drone softly in the darkness of his cloth-contained cubicle. She pushed aside the curtains surrounding the window bed, holding her breath.

But there was no one there. The bed was empty.

Her breath caught in her throat, and then died.

She was too…

Too late.

No, she had to be reasonable here. There was a logical explanation for this. He was being operated on. Or they were taking him somewhere for an examination. Or she had the wrong room altogether. But there was his name on the patient information file behind the bed. There was his watch lying on the bedside table.

The nurse at the reception desk looked up at her when she approached, setting aside the file in his hands. "May I help you?"

"Yes," Maureen cleared her throat, trying to regain her composure. Donna had gone to find coffee. Figured. "I'm Maureen Stabler; my father Elliot Stabler is here. He doesn't seem to be in his room, though."

"Oh," The man smiled softly, pointing to the right. "Try Room 9B."

"Oh, uh… thank you." She backed away from the desk, frowning. Donna reappeared with two coffees in hand, smiling sleepily.

"Found the coffee machine." She blinked at the room they were passing. "Isn't that the one the nurse was talking about?"

"Yeah, he…he moved or something." She stopped, turning to her roommate, blinking beneath the blonde hair hanging into her grey eyes. "Donna, can you just wait for me in there?"

"3B, you mean?"

"Yeah, that'd be great. I'll only be a minute, I think."

"Uh, sure." Donna nodded, retreating to the room behind them.

Maureen stepped into room 9, eyeing the woman who smiled at her from the nearest bed, flipping through the channels while the man beside her, presumably her husband, slept in his chair.

A woman's room?

But then she heard his voice, soft, gentle, rising from behind the mauve curtains. His silhouette was framed from the light streaming from the lamp above the window bed, and she let out a tiny sigh, seeing his strong nose, his sloping forehead familiar in her plane of view.

"Dad!" She pulled back the curtains and gasped, falling to where he sat in the chair and wrapping her arms around his neck. "Oh my god, I was so worried…"

"Maureen," He whispered, bringing his hands to her back and pulling her in tightly. In his arms, she still felt his strength, yet when she pulled back and met his eyes, there was…weariness in them. He kissed the top of her head, breathing into her hair. "Jesus, I'm glad to see you."

Maureen turned to the occupant of the bed, blinking at the familiar figure who was smiling wearily back.

"Olivia?"

"Hey Maureen," Olivia gave a small wave, revealing the bandage enveloping her right side. "Hope we didn't' wake you up."

"No, I never sleep." She said, trying to laugh. But she was too confused, too shocked. What had happened? What the hell had _happened_? "Are you…are you going to be alright?"

"I'll manage." She smiled warmly, giving a tug at the IV line running from her wrist. "As soon as they cut these things, we can be out of here."

"I don't understand." Maureen turned to her father, who was now taking a seat at the end of the bed. "What happened?"

"Well, we're not entirely sure ourselves." She noticed the hand he was resting on the sheets that covered Olivia's thigh, the fingers that were kneading small circles. "But you don't have to worry about me, hon. Nothing but a sprained wrist and a few sore fingers to mend here."

"Where were you?"

"My apartment." Olivia said quietly, her eyes flashing to meet Elliot's before falling back onto Maureen.

"Oh," Maureen blinked. _Something is definitely going on here that needs to be addressed. _"But who did this to you two?"

"We were…someone…" Elliot leaned forward, looking into his daughter's face with bright blue eyes identical to her own. "Listen to me, Kathleen. The cops are already working on this, so you have nothing to worry about. We are all perfectly safe."

"Dad, just tell me."

Elliot let out a small sigh, a weary and ancient air escaping from his lips.

"Someone shot at us. One of the shots hit the wall. The other grazed Liv's shoulder. They were on the fire escape and I jumped for them, but they were past me and into the room. They were kicking Olivia before I got my hands on them, and then they pushed me down and got out the window. I was a little bruised, but Liv was unconscious, so I called the ambulance and we ended up over here."

"Jesus…" She breathed in, feeling the stale air of the room dry up her already parched throat. Her mind was suddenly quieted with fear, her heart beginning to slow with shock. "And why…why did they do this?"

"We have a feeling it's probably connected with the case we're working on, but…we don't really know." His fingers wrapped around Olivia's limp hand, squeezing her palm gently. She smiled back, her eyes sad and faraway.

_So what was he doing at her apartment at two in the morning anyway?_

_And why did no one tell me something like this was going on?_

Another nurse was standing in the doorway, giving the scene a quiet examination.

"_Another _visitor, Ms. Benson?" The woman asked, smiling warmly and fingering the edge of a large file in her hands. "Mr. Stabler, you _know_ you should be back in your own room, giving this poor woman a chance to rest, don't you?"

"Of course." Her father stood up, Maureen locking her arm around his elbow. He seemed unsteady all of a sudden, though she didn't think it was from physical weakness. Instead, his eyes were on the dark eyed woman still lying in bed, giving him a sad smile. "Get some sleep, Liv." He released her hand from his fingers, watching silently as they fell to the sheets and lay motionless on her middle.

"You too, El." Her eyes narrowed in pain, and then closed, the aggrieved smile still on her face. "You too…"

They walked into the hallway, the nurse standing beside them.

"She'll be fine soon enough, won't she?" Her father's voice was strained, tense.

"We can't really know for sure at this point, Mr. Stabler." The nurse was still fingering the file under her arm. "I have the ultrasounds on the broken ribs and on the abdomen, but we may be looking at some internal bleeding here."

"And then what? How can you treat that?" His voice was louder. Maureen took her father's arm in both her hands, pulling him towards the room. He was exhausted and desperate, and he didn't need to think about any of this right now. Not until he'd had some sleep at least.

"Let's not burn any bridges until we come to them, Mr. Stabler." The nurse patted his shoulder, smiling again. "Get some rest, and we can discuss more of this when you've allowed yourself some sleep."

"But I'd rather be in there in case anything happens, or at least awake if she-"

"If anything happens, our staff will be more than competent in giving Ms. Benson the best possible treatment, I assure you. But right now, my main concern is your shut-eye, do you understand?" She gave him a matronly tap on the arm. "To bed, Mr. Stabler, and let's not hear another word of it until you're ready."

He nodded and finally caved; following his daughter's lead, he returned to his room.

Maureen found Donna asleep in the chair outside the room, two coffees still clenched tight in her fingers. She smiled and led her father inside, sitting across from him as he settled into the sheets.

"I hate this, you know." He grumbled, dimming the lights above him. "They won't even let me stay with her, and-"

"Dad," Maureen grinned at him, taking a sip of the coffee she'd pried from Donna's right hand. "You need to rest. How many times does everyone need to say it?"

"And what if something happens?" His voice was raised, his eyes suddenly wet and large. Desperation had taken him. "What if she…what if I'm not there, and…." He sighed in frustration, his hand covering his forehead. "Jesus, what if I lose her?"

"Dad," Maureen leaned forward, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Dad, she's going to be fine. Don't worry."

"Don't' tell me not to worry!" He said, his eyes flashing as he took a sharp breath, turning on her. "Did you see her? Did you see her eyes? She's so weak right now…the bastard…the bastard was just beating the hell out of her and I…I couldn't get my hands on him…too damn slow…just too fucking slow to even stop him for one minute…not until he got sick of it and turned on me instead."

He was crying at this point, long and lonely tears running down his cheeks. Maureen stared and blinked back tears of her own, amazed at the passion in the voice of a man she'd never seen weep.

"It's going to be alright." She whispered, laying her head onto his shoulder. "It's going to be alright, Dad…"

"I can't lose her, Maureen. I can't."

"I know."

She clung to his arm with the fierce strength she could not find in him alone. She clung to this man, the father she'd thought could never cry, could never be anything but impossibly strong, and felt the fear in his eyes.


	27. Concern

**tee-hee. over 400 reviews. this story has officially kicked some fanfiction ass.**

**(flaunts, gloats, etc. for a few minutes)**

**no, really. I actually went to the library computers after school today and checked to see if there were more reviews. and I was like 'oh, I am loved.' you all improved my day. so pat yourselves on the back for that one. making the day of a depressive angsty teenager is a very big achievement in the world. it's kind of like hugging Nelson Mandela. or Gandhi. or Mother Teresa. **

**but mostly Nelson Mandela, because I named my calculator after him.**

**so anywhoo, I have been debating and debating over what to do with this storyline. I mean, I have the continual Personal Messages about plot suggestions. and some of them are really good. they're kind of vague and generally involve the exact same thing, and DON'T PANIC. I'm taking it all into consideration. I'm taking it very seriously. VERY seriously. VERRRRRRRYYY SERIOSSSSSSLY. (wink-wink-nudge-nudge-take-a-photograph)**

**over 400 reviews though? (!) and 40000 hits? (!) you spoil me rotten.**

**I just wanted to thank you all for hitting this milestone in the story. I couldn't have gotten this far without all the support I keep getting from my readers and I certainly wouldn't have kept writing if I didn't know there would be a hundred people waiting for it. but there is and you are and I am just so amazed at the reception I've gotten from this story.**

**thanks for helping me live a small dream. I love you all.**

**and since I know you all trust me, I'm about to take some creative liberties with this story. and tweak it my way. mwahahahahaha.**

…

She woke up to the familiar buzz of the city; the horns from the continually irritated drivers, the stopping and the starting of engines, the sound of words in a dozen languages that carried itself into the air and lingered just above the horizon, sounding of a thousand voices beating as one. Maureen Stabler blinked at the dim light coming through a grey window and stirred in the chair she'd spent the night in. Donna was gone, a coffee sitting amiably in her place. And when she glanced to the bed, her father was still sleeping there, snoring slightly.

She rolled over so that her head rested on her arm, smiling at the one man she'd always been able to count on. There'd been times when the rest of the world had seemed so fragile, weak; yet Elliot Stabler stood through the thrashing of the ages and learned to face them again. She'd seen him win and she'd seen him fail, and time and time again Maureen had watched his determination forming deep in his irises, burning brightly as he turned to his family before walking out the door. But Maureen had never seen him break.

Yet now he was surely broken.

Her cell phone was in her pocket, vibrating against her thigh and finally waking her senses. She got to her feet, stretching as she shuffled out into the hall, where activities had yet to slow from the pace of the following night. Yawning interns paced after bright-eyed nurses and doctors, laundry was being distributed along with the medications, and somewhere, somehow, a phone was always ringing. She opened her own and held it to her ear.

"Hello?"

"Maureen?"

"Kathleen, hey." She covered her mouth to restrain a yawn, leaning against the nearest free wall. "Did you get my message last night?"

"Yeah, I'm on my way right now. Connecticut's traffic was hell."

"Well, don't worry. I'm here with him when he wakes up, and I haven't had to deal with any medical issues or questions yet, so…"

"And how is he?" It was a tentative question.

"He's…he's fine." She glanced into the darkness of the room. "I think it was hard at first, but…he's not seriously hurt….and he's recovering."

"So what happened exactly?"

"Well…he was with Olivia, and they were…attacked, I guess."

"My god…" There was a long pause, a deep breath, and then finally the voice continued. "Where were they?"

"At her apartment."

"At _that_ time of night?"

"Yes." She bit her lip, giving the room another nervous glance.

"So…is Olivia alright?"

"No, she's not in very good shape right now. A bullet grazed her shoulder, and the man broke two ribs and probably hurt a lot more when he kept kicking her."

"Jesus…"

"Yeah, I know."

"How's dad…taking all of this?"

"You mean his injuries?"

"No, hers."

"Oh…I…I don't know. He's…he's _changed_, Kathleen." She held the phone closer to her face, her voice dropping to a whisper. "You know, I don't think I've ever seen him this concerned before. Frankly, it scares the hell out of me. She looks close to death and he's beating himself up here for everything. And you know…I think…"

"What?"

"I think there's something going on…"

"You mean with them?"

"Yeah…I just have this feeling. He's acting like he used to with…"

"With mom."

She let out a small sigh. "Exactly." Maureen cracked a small smile. "Yet it's different, you know? He's a lot…calmer, somehow. It's like he's really a different man around her; gentle and peaceful, like he is with us."

"I guess that's good."

"I guess, yeah…" Maureen ran a stray hand through her hair. "How far away are you?"

"I'm on the Taconic right now, so maybe two hours tops."

"I think he'd like it if you were here soon."

"I'll do my best." Kathleen's voice was soft all of a sudden, a voice so similar to her mother's and yet so different. "Keep an eye, Maureen…on both of them."

"I will."

She hung up, closing her eyes and keeping her fingers crushed against her forehead for a moment. She was trying to reach for something deep inside her that she was not sure she possessed, the strength she may not have inherited from her father.

Maureen held her breath, and waited.

…

"Mr. Stabler, how are we doing today?"

It was the nurse from last night. He smiled up at her, flexing his arms and hands, feeling the strength returning.

"Great. Much better." He sighed deeply, relieved at the warmth within him. The cold of last night…it had strangely passed.

He remembered her face, the look in her eyes.

_Well, maybe not entirely passed…_

"Good. If your tests come out fine, you'll be home by lunch. Of course, you'll have the police to deal with as well…"

"Well, it's not like I'm not used to that." He said, laughing quietly. She nodded, glancing down at her clipboard.

He glanced over her shoulder at the sound of familiar voices in the hall. Maureen was embracing her sister, dark hair meshing with light hair as they pulled together and exchanged coffees. Kathleen was pocketing her keys, throwing a jacket over her arm and pulling back a strand of stray hair. Maureen was beaming at her, probably because of the hot beverage that was now simmering freshly in her hands, and partly because of how close the two were. Even now, grown into the beautiful women he saw standing before him, they still seemed like the two little girls he remembered as they sat on the porch, one with a pink dress and her mother's pearls, and the other with a scraped knee and a bug collection.

It was almost impossible to imagine them when he could cradle them in awkward and clumsy arms, arms that were immediately made graceful when the little bundles of warmth were placed within them. Now they were something like dreams, the young women they'd once aspired to be, the adults he'd always known they would become.

Yet here he was, lying in a bed with only thing on his mind, and he felt even smaller than they had once been, curled up on his chest as they slept against his breath.

The nurse was moving militarily about him, wrapping something here, checking something there. He stared up at the faded lights reflected on the ceiling, feeling the world closing in over him. His life had become too huge for him, his world too large to handle; and now he was just a little man with too much to do, a walking shell that neither obeyed nor understood.

He wanted to have her here. He wanted her somewhere close, somewhere safe.

But even when she was a few rooms away, she was too far from the arms that longed for her. Even in a hospital, her life felt beyond repair.

"How's Olivia Benson this morning?" He asked nonchalantly, noting the expression of darkness on the nurse's face.

"I know you care about her, Mr. Stabler. But I need to ask you not to worry yourself about her condition. We are doing everything in our power to make her as comfortable as possible."

He let out an agitated sigh. "But is she _recovering_?"

"You need strength to recover, Mr. Stabler. And Ms. Benson, god bless her, may have the will, but as of now there is no strength left in her body."

"The ribs will heal in time, won't they?"

"Soon enough. But she has more than broken ribs to worry about."

"They mentioned internal bleeding…"

"Her results are negative for internal bleeding, so she was lucky there." The nurse frowned slightly, blinking quickly as she packed up her scanner. "As are you. Your blood tests are all normal, and your body is well on its way to self-recovery, excepting the bruises you may have around your neck. You'll be sore for a few days, but nothing more I suspect. At this point, the doctor can release you."

"But, about Ms. Benson-"

"That poor dear's here for a few more days I'm sure. A week or two if destiny calls. This never would have been so bad if it hadn't been for-"

But Maureen and Kathleen had entered and were beaming at their father. Kathleen bent over and embraced him warmly, kissing him on the cheek and forehead.

"Jesus, you scared me." She said, giving him a small smile. "And what's this? The doctor's releasing you?"

"Yeah, pretty soon." He said, though his attention was still focused on the nurse. "What were you saying, ma'am? If it hadn't been for what?"

"What do you say to staying with me in Hartford for a while, dad?" Kathleen was on the edge of the bed, her hand resting against his upper arm. "I have a spare bedroom and that way I could keep an eye on you until everything's healed. I'm sure Cragen could give you the week off, right?"

But much as Elliot would have gladly accepted her offer, it was the nurse he needed now.

"I can stay here with Olivia, can't I?" He asked the woman to his left, who nodded placidly and placed the clipboard on the table. "She'll recover eventually, won't she?"

The nurse frowned slightly, her eyes suddenly deep and dark, that compassionate fear all adults inherit with age and experience filling her irises once more. "I'm sure _she_ will, when the time comes." She bit her lip. "It's the _baby_ we're all worried about."


	28. What If

**ah, this is the angst chapter. the drama chapter. the one I've been waiting for so I could stab you all with sympathy stakes and rip your bleeding hearts out.**

**jesus, I sound like a cannibal.**

**ANYWHOOOOOO, I now know how to increase my author rating. just put pregnancy somewhere in the mix. this is obviously why all the crappy fics still get lots of comments because they have babies in them. and who can resist a baby? maybe like…no one. and that Charlie Sheen guy.**

**so here's a really awesome chapter. at least….I think it is. I humbly request lots of reviews too. because they mean the world and YOU DON'T WANT TO SCREW WITH MY WORLD. TRUST ME.**

**whoopsee there, mood swings. hehehehe.**

…

The sky was blue as ever, sun shining with all the energy of the budding and blooming earth. On the banks of the Hudson, in the shade of the giant magnolias and the great stone house looming behind them, the world was stirring breathlessly, basking in its own warm glow.

It was a good day to be buried, she thought. A good day to see him tie his last knots and cut his last ribbons, that's what it was.

Katrina wasn't welcome here by any standards, and she knew that perfectly well. She was still standing among them, among the perfect Gucci dresses and the black Prada pumps. A few well-placed sniffs here and there punctuated the quiet atmosphere, the broken silence shuddering as the steady breeze attempted to claim back its lost peace. But they stood and stared and let out a few honest sighs and sobs. Hell, some of them might actually be sad to be here. But Katrina didn't really believe it.

Valerie was standing beside Drew Evans, the one she'd been clinging to since she was 11. Katrina eyed the engagement ring glittering on her sister's finger- so the bitch was finally going to settle down? Impossible. Valerie Bates couldn't live out the rest of her years shagging only one man. She'd have to spread her legs for at least a few others before she was really satisfied with life.

Hannah was crying from where she sat in front of her sisters, a man on each side attempting to console her. She let out another dry sob, her short dark hair shuddering slightly as she leaned against the blonde one to her right. He smiled knowingly at the competition, who frowned and turned back to the casket.

Really, this was becoming sickening.

Katrina knew she was the obvious pariah here. She knew that no matter who she tried to tell, belief could not be found. But someone needed to know. Someone had to know.

And besides, once someone knew, she would be the pariah no more. Father would be crawling back to her like the sorry bastard he was, and Valerie wouldn't have a choice but to let him be on the matter. Katrina was sick of sainthood, and not prepared for martyrdom.

The casket loomed dangerously before her, flowers flung over the mahogany and baskets lining its front. She was done crying today. Jonathan knew she loved him, knew she would have spent the rest of her life digging the graves for him. And Jonathan had told her once that she was never to cry at his funeral, not if the job had claimed him first.

Because she loved him, she obeyed, much as it hurt.

She walked away from the family plot that sat on the cliffs, walked away from the collection of Bates who would ever be bastards to her. This house…this family…it had been hers once, too. She had shared what Jonathan had never been able to give up, and now it was gone. This didn't belong to her anymore, this jaded life of silk sleeves and million dollar pearls and back-stabbing bitches. Katrina was a stranger here, an alien in the half-familiar land that seemed only available in timelessly walked dreams.

But not for long.

They ignored her when she left, and she stepped up the back stairs to the dais by herself, the mansion seemingly empty with the family all crowded around a lonely plot at the bottom of the hill. The garden was just as inviting as it had always been, so instead she retreated to a place once reserved for thinking. In the cool confines of the hedges and the rose bushes, she was hidden between the marble gods that shadowed her from sight.

There was stirring behind the hedges that ran higher than her head, surrounding her in a conforming circle around the fountain, shielding it from the prying eyes of passerby's. A familiar face emerged from behind the rosebuds, a small smile on his lips.

"I thought you might be hiding." He said, coming to sit beside her on a marble bench, a bottle of wine suddenly in his hands. "Do you remember sneaking off during the dinner parties, downing something from the wine cellar, getting completely drunk, and then falling asleep naked in the hedges?"

"Ah yes, good times." Katrina laughed quietly, giving him a momentary glance before turning back to the fountain.

He grinned boyishly. "Well, what are third cousins for?"

"Fourth cousins, Ripley."

Ripley Montgomery was the only other member of the family that could qualify for a black sheep besides Katrina. He was born the golden boy of the Montgomery family, only child of Anthony and Marie Montgomery, heir to a fortune the size of Rhode Island. Yet he was the private school dropout, the trouble child that seemed to always be encountering some problem at the Ivy Leagues they sent him to, from Princeton to Harvard and back to Yale.

Ripley was also one of the reasons Katrina had never quite fit in with our own brood. Her tight associations with him since infancy had run some mild problems into the adolescent mix, yet she stuck with him. Ripley was dependable in the sense that he could always be counted on to misbehave. He had admired Jonathan in a faraway sort of sense; the two had never been particularly close, but this was only because Katrina's father had done everything in his power to keep the Montgomery offspring from poisoning the perfect Bates boy's mind.

This was probably why Katrina had originally fallen in love with Ripley.

But everything had changed in the five years since they'd gone their separate ways. Ripley was a businessman, having inherited that lofty fortune of his deceased father and earning somewhat of a level of maturity in the process.

"Rip…"

"What?"

"Jonathan was not as straight-laced as you think, you know."

"I knew that. Sister like you…he was bound to crack sooner or later." He took a swig of the wine, and then handed her the bottle. She took a tentative sip, giving him a small frown.

"Rip, I'm serious. Jonathan, he told me…he said before he died that he needed something done. He said his friend was becoming dangerous. I thought he was talking about one of those imaginary ones, but…he was real."

Ripley frowned, his round lips creasing and his brows furrowing beneath the dark locks of his curling hair. "What'd he do?"

"Jonathan couldn't really do anything. He tried to tell father about it, but he wouldn't believe him. And then he started getting desperate. He used to call me at night and ask me if someone was outside my window. Ask me if I saw a face…on my wall. It was like he was going insane or something, but I just thought the schizophrenia was coming back."

"Not Jonathan, his friend. What'd his friend do that was so terrible?"

She ignored the question. "Ripley, my brother is dead. Jonathan is dead. All because he defended an old friend. And now what he wanted…he tried to start."

"I am now aware of that, Kat. But what the hell do you want done about it?"

Her voice lowered as she leaned closer to him. "I need a favor."

He raised an eyebrow. "What kind of favor?"

"You know what the Bates family believes in, Rip. Honor and all that, we hold that rather highly."

He laughed, taking another swig of the wine. "Katrina, I'm not exactly a full-blooded Bates, in case you haven't noticed."

"I wouldn't care if you were a Hilton, Ripley. You can have whatever you want: cash, stocks, booze…you name it. I need a favor and you happen to be the only one who is willing to trust my instincts right now."

He grinned, his hand falling onto her thigh. "Considering what happened three years ago, I wouldn't trust you either."

"We all make mistakes, Rip." She inched closer, letting his fingers run the length of her back. "Now let's put the past aside for Jonathan's sake, alright?"

"Ah, of course. Jonathan." An eyebrow rose. "Who are you doing this for, Kat? Because this sounds like a very good scheme to put yourself back in favor with your father."

"It might be."

He slipped one hand over her shoulder, ran his tongue along her ear.

Ah, the memories.

"So what am I getting out of this, Miss Bates?"

"Me," She whispered, letting his hand creep down the front of her shirt- searching, pressing, grasping…

"And what do you want done, Kat?" The wine bottle was knocked over by his knee as he climbed across the bench, onto her. It was spilling like blood on the stones that lined the fountain, staining them a dark red until they soaked black.

"The job wasn't finished. I need you to kill two people."

…

He hesitated before knocking on the door. There was a memory in this somewhere, pressing at the back of his mind like a dull razor. He begged to be bled at this moment, to recall whatever danger it was that tore him backwards in time. He needed an excuse for the upcoming events, the reason for giving her a piece of a broken truth.

He cracked open the door, finding the bed beside her unoccupied. She was asleep, and for a moment he was hopeful, happy almost. He could wait and think this out more, just sit and figure out exactly what he was going to say, and then it would be alright.

But no matter how long he thought about it, he doubted it would be alright. It wasn't supposed to work like this…relationships, he meant.

She stirred, her eyes fluttering open and meeting his as he wavered beside the doorway.

"Hello stranger," She whispered, stretching one arm and yawning.

"Hey," He walked slowly to her bedside, bending over to plant a chaste kiss on her forehead. She was warm to the touch, but it was a sickly sort of warm. "You've got the place to yourself now."

"Not for long. They'll probably move someone in soon." She stared at him, her eyes large and deep. She gave him a small and knowing smile, resting a tired hand on his knuckles. "Have you heard the verdict yet? Am I here forever?"

"A few more days, that's all." He tried to smile, but found he could not manage a sufficient one. "You'll probably be home by the weekend, Liv. You can stay at my place for a while, just so you won't be alone."

"You're very good to me, did you know that?" She twisted a finger around his thumb. "But…there's something on your mind, isn't there?"

"Well…I…"

"El," She raised an eyebrow, her hand clenched tightly around his. "Please."

His stomach tightened. It was strange, staring at this woman and seeing her as the mother of his child. He'd been prepared with Kathy. They'd actually been trying after the first time around, so it was always a pleasant but not entirely unexpected surprise when they figured out they'd succeeded in conceiving. But he hadn't even been thinking about this. He hadn't even thought about if he wanted kids. Yet here she was, and somewhere in there was someone else too, someone that could call him 'Dad' and grow up before his eyes and look almost like him and almost like her.

"Elliot, are you crying?" Her eyes were soft suddenly, a strange softness he's never seen in them before. It was a calm and peaceful expression, one of motherly soothing.

"No," He wiped his eye, finding it to be moist. Probably red, too. Christ, he was screwing this all up. "Just dry in here…"

"Elliot, what is going on?"

"Liv…" He sighed, kissing her again, this time on the lips. Oh god, he couldn't stop thinking about this now. Once the fact and been brought to his attention, it commanded his thoughts. Jesus, he was a father again. And by Olivia for Christ's sake. This little thing had been alive for a few weeks without anyone even knowing about it, without anyone caring to be happy and surprised, or get excited about its birth, or start thinking about what to call it. It had just been there- lonely, unloved. Unknown.

"Liv, did you know…I mean, maybe you didn't want to tell me yet, but…the nurse said…and she wasn't telling me because I asked, but…"

"Elliot?" She frowned, releasing his hand. "What are you talking about?"

"Did you know you were…well…" He took a deep breath, but he saw the understanding in her eyes. A hand went to her belly, the reaction immediate and deep.

"I thought about it, but…I just waited. I thought maybe it'd come around again and everything would be okay. I thought I was just stressing out over everything." She looked at the wall ahead of her, eyes blank and unfeeling. "I can't…and…" She looked up at him, brows furrowed. "You knew?"

"The nurse mentioned it yesterday. She thought I already knew about it." He took a seat on the bed, and her legs pressed up against his hip. "I guess we weren't as careful as we thought."

"We didn't think we were careful, El. We knew the risks." She closed her eyes, her fingers kneading her forehead. "Jesus Christ, what the hell are we going to do?"

"Do you…do you want this?"

It was a strange question. It was strange because it was impossible to answer without sacrifice. But then again, life was about sacrifices. His job was about sacrifices, his family, his love…everything. Would they sacrifice their own child just for normality?

"I don't know…" She started to cry now, tears rolling down pale cheeks that shone in the flickering light above them. He hated this, tears in the stale air, crying on the stuffy hall of a hospital. It felt like bad luck, grieving a life still beating brightly when you were in a place so stifled by death.

And suddenly the tears were gone. She closed her eyes, lying back onto the pillow, her face easing and her expression awash with calm.

He stared, blinking tentatively at her.

"I knew this would happen." She whispered, to no one and to everyone. "Do you know…I even _wanted_ it? I just kept thinking all that time you were with me, all that time I was sharing your bed and your breakfasts and your company…I just kept thinking about it. I don't know why. I didn't know why then. But I thought 'if we had a child, wouldn't this all work out? What if…what if we had a family?'" She laughed quietly, a weak expression of relieved tension. "But they say that for every 'what if' you make, you end up with another disappointment."

"Is this a disappointment?" He was suddenly embracing her, folding his arms over her, leaving a kiss on her cheek. "Liv, we have something. We made something. This is a miracle, not a disappointment."

"Elliot, we can't…how can we honestly make this work? We have the job on our backs all the time, not to mention a relationship that's against our rules, and now…I mean…" She sighed, her voice so weak and quiet, barely a whisper. "I want this, Elliot. I've never…" She smiled, letting out a small laugh. "Elliot, I'm pregnant."

"I know," He whispered, kissing her again. His eyes were wet again, the smile on his mouth suddenly undeniable.

"But…" Her smile disappeared, her eyes clouding over. "But what about last night?"

"I…I don't know…" He held onto her even tighter, pressing his face close to her forehead. "We just have to wait, I guess."

"What if-"

"No," He placed a finger over her lips, softly, smoothly. "Don't look for it in a 'what if.' Just…try to find it somewhere else."

He lay beside her for a few hours more, contemplating in the growing darkness where it was he was to find this hidden hope. She slept on, searching for her own truths in dreams he could not fathom. But Elliot…Elliot had to hold onto her and remember why he was here, and remember that he had to find the answer in them. In what they were. In what they could be.

He looked over at her sleeping form, her face so peaceful…and yet so pained. His hand drifted across her body until it rested on her own fingers, rising and falling on her middle. His thoughts were on the tiny being now drifting inside her, safe beneath its parents' hands.

…

He showed them his badge, then went through the stale halls, stride getting longer with each step. Protocol. It was getting to be ridiculous really. These were not cases to him. Not names on a file with distant photographs, faces he no more recognized than honestly felt affection for. These were family, almost.

"Olivia Benson's room, please." The nurse nodded and gave him the number. He dreaded the next discussion. He didn't want this to start, this exchange of words that only recalled memories of pain and misfortune. He was the captain, though; the role model at all costs. The standard setter. Donald Cragen was expected to endure the pain he saw in someone else's eyes. Most humans were, actually.

It was a stupid request.

The door was closed, but he cracked it open without a sound, thankful for whoever last oiled the hinges. If she was asleep, he would wait. It would be inhuman to just wake her up and start questioning her about all of this…

But he saw she was not alone. No, there were two figures lying on the bed of this patient. One was long and dressed in street clothes, his familiar form rising slowly in sync with his bed partner's breath. A hand rested on her lower abdomen, placed gently over her own. They were perfect beside one another, complementary and yet fitting, like puzzle pieces left on the porcelain plate of life, fit together over worn time.

Cragen backed away suddenly, feeling as though he were the intruder on this moment. An alien in this rare point of peace.

He left the room, silently. Unnoticed. He would come back, he resolved. But for now, something about this hour belonged only to them, two souls lost in one another, exhausted of the rest of the world.

Cragen retreated into the hall, meeting one of the nurses on his way back to the waiting room near the elevators.

"Donald Cragen, Special Victims." He showed her his badge, to which she simply nodded. "Do you have the files for Olivia Benson and Elliot Stabler?"

"I'll get Dr. Ramirez for you."

Dr. Ramirez returned in no time, a man barely into his thirties but with a friendly and intelligent air. "Captain Cragen?" He shook his hand, giving him another eager smile. "I'm Dr. Ramirez. You're working on the case for Olivia and Elliot?"

"They're my best team. I'd be crazy not to."

"They're certainly close."

_I can obviously see that._

Dr. Ramirez handed him two files. "You'll find their medical records here. Copies of the ultrasounds and cat scans of Miss Benson are in her file as well."

Cragen scanned them over, reading the report on injuries with a small pain in his throat. Beaten, kicked. Broken ribs, bruised spine. Countless bruises. All done in less than a minute.

Jesus fucking christ.

"How long are you going to be keeping Olivia here?"

"As long as we have to. We're basically looking to keep a close eye on the fetus, just so we're not risking a miscarriage here."

"A what?" Cragen attempted to clear his ears out, blinking.

"A miscarriage. But after everything that's happened, I wouldn't be surprised if this aborts itself in a few days. There was evidence of bruising to her lower abdomen, but we can't go in and look for traces of internal bruising or bleeding out of care for the fetus. Any more shock and it will definitely die."

Cragen's mouth hung open momentarily. "I'm sorry, did you say fetus?"

"Yes," Dr. Ramirez raised an eyebrow. "Miss Benson is about five weeks along."

"She's _pregnant_?"

_Jesus fucking christ._

_So this is why Elliot gets no paperwork done at home?_

"So what can you do about it?"

"We're doing everything we can. Right now, we're just hoping for a miracle. But if the fetus ends up aborting itself, no harm should come to Olivia. The emotional shock of course, but…that's why we're keeping her here. If anything happens, she'll be with us and the better to deal with it."

"As soon as you can send her home, do it." Cragen turned to the elevators, thanking the doctor. "The longer you keep her here, the worse it will be."

"Two days, Captain. She's leaving in two days."

"Good." Cragen strode towards the elevators. Somehow, unknown to him as it was, he wanted out. He needed a walk. This was way too…complicated right now.

He hadn't known about Benson and Stabler. I mean, there had been tension before but…she was carrying his child. So they'd been sleeping together for at least five weeks. And this whole case…the Bates had disappeared until Valerie had shown up out of the blue. And then the attack. What if the Bates were behind all of this? Or what if they were simply the middlemen?

He frowned, pressing the star for main floor. He was sick of asking questions. Sick of not ever really understanding the things closest to him.

And he hated using the words 'what if.'


	29. Ebony

_**all you need is incest, doo doo doodoo dooo.**_

_**all you need is incest, doo doo doodoo dooo.**_

**_all you need is incest, incest-_**

_**incest is all you need.**_

**okay, John Lennon is officially rolling around in his grave right now. **

**this wasn't technical incest (fourth cousins, I know) but I made a promise to an old friend at the beginning of the story that there would be incest in this work. and now it is done. so whoopeedoo for me.**

**alright, I think after the angst that was last chapter, you can let me get away with some more Bates-family-drama. sorry to everyone who has kind of forgotten where we were at with this set of characters, but reviewing a few chapters never hurt anyone. just remember…Valerie bitch; Katrina misunderstood bitch; Hannah not well know bitch; and Jonathan dead. also recall Jonathan's schizophrenia, his secretive life between Katrina and the Bates family, and the friend he is trying to help who did something very very bad. I know you read this because it is fanfiction, because the two main characters are this 'partnership elegante', and because it is written by a sexy sexy author (er, I mean…a _smart_ author) you know what I mean…but the fact of the matter is, this story is not going to be driven along by OE antics alone. when I write stories like this, I write like I would any other of my novels (hehehe, aren't I trying to sound all professional-like?) with an intriguing plotline as well as lovable characters. and unlovable characters besides, of _course_, for who does not love to hate a bitch and therefore read more about them? **

**so the bottom line is: don't get pissed when I go off on a tangent about Katrina doing Ripley in the garden. when you realize how humongous a role these people are all playing in the story, no matter how totally insignificant they seem now, you will thank me. you will thank me for giving you some legit background and slowly drawing you into the amazement that is:**

**THE GIGANTIC CLIMACTIC PLOT TWIST OF DOOM!**

**but more on that later…**

**and no stupidheads, it is not what it seems now. it is not at _all_ how it seems now.**

**but that is the whole _POINT_ of the GIGANTIC CLIMACTIC PLOT TWIST OF DOOM!**

**so here's to your health and a nice dosage of chapter-ness. don't kill me for what I do in this chapter. understand only why I did it.**

**you'll get that reference later.**

…

The precinct was silent but for the soft white noise of the fan to his right, the room dark and dense with the quiet recollections of an exhausted day. They'd told him to come back, to get his things, to recollect where the pain wasn't so constant. But somehow his worries worsened here when he couldn't see her, when he couldn't lie beside her and know everything was still okay. Even if it didn't last…even if minutes later it came to a close, this wonderful peace…even so, at least for this one second more she was alright. At least for one second more they could be together like this. Almost together. Almost a family.

Almost.

This would pass, perhaps. Maybe someday he'd be sitting at this desk again, a dark day falling just as it had today, the same moon rising to greet him with an impassioned smile. And maybe that day there would be a picture on his desk that he'd glance at as he packed away his files, a husband and wife and their child. Maybe he'd smile at their faces and take a moment to remember some foreseen joy, and then go back to his work.

But not tonight. Tonight was reserved for gathering his things, for closing the door on one part of his life while he opened another.

The door beside him opened, a familiar face appearing beside the hinges.

"What are you doing here?" Casey frowned, setting down her briefcase.

"I would ask the same thing of you." He smiled at her, glad to see a friendly face after a day of worried eyes and tense expressions. Casey was probably the closest thing to a friend that Olivia could have imagined So that made her his friend, too, really.

"Well, I happened to leave half my paperwork for the Yeltzer trial on Cragen's desk this afternoon. You however have no excuse. I thought you were assigned to bed rest."

He shrugged. "They let me go. Olivia's still there, though."

"I know." She gave him another small smile, her eyes filled with concern. "I was just there."

"You were?" He stood up, his eyes widening. "How is she?"

"Exhausted." Casey ran a stray hand through her hair, her hair returning to its normal red luster in the darkness of the room. "But she's so glad you've been with her for this. You're very good to her, did you know that?"

He smiled, avoiding her eye. "She'd do the same for me."

"Yes, she would."

They were both silent for a moment, the truth of those spilt seconds sinking in among the rising darkness. He shivered against his will, longing to stand beside her bed once more.

"Do you…do you think I should take her home?"

"What?"

"She asked to go home this afternoon. I just thought…maybe she'd feel better."

"What did the doctors say?"

"They want her there in case anything happens with the…" He paused, biting his lip. "Well, they want to keep her there for one more day."

"Take her back tomorrow." Casey smiled again, picking up her briefcase. "She'll like that. And go home, Elliot." She said over her shoulder as she left, smirking at him. "It's almost midnight and the only thing you need more than seeing Olivia is a good dose of sleep."

"Yeah, I know." He glanced at his watch. It was quarter to twelve. Shit. "Well, I'll pack things up and get home, then. You need a ride?"

"No, I'm fine." She smiled, giving him a small wave. "See you later, then."

"Goodnight, Case."

"G'night, Elliot." She waved goodbye as she pulled the door closed, pausing halfway through the motion. "Elliot?"

"Hmm?" He looked up from the drawer he was locking, frowning.

"Congratulations." She grinned and shut the door behind her.

He rubbed the back of his neck as he stood, feeling his back crack and ache with each familiar and sore turn. Pain was becoming so familiar to his body now, bent and broken as it was. But now he longed for the one thing that could soothe it; the warm form lying beside him, back against his chest as he laid one hand over her shoulder. His mind drifted to a night not so long ago when she'd been in that same position, bare beneath the sheets and sleeping soundly in his arms. He watched her for a few hours, savoring the bliss of the moment, knowing somewhere in the back of his mind that nothing like this could last. In the end, all these perfect moments seemed to die, no matter the brilliance of their brief existence.

He sighed, turning off the desk lamp that had so briefly lit his existence. Thankful for its presence on the shadowy night, he retreated ot the car garage, mind on one thing the entire way.

…

**THREE DAYS LATER...HUM DEE DUM.**

…

They waited, poised like tiny silhouettes awaiting application to the blank page, lighting like drops of black ink dangling expectantly from the tip of the brush, hovering over the arid canvas. The air was silent, heavy. It was damp with the quiet exhales of the two figures lying in bed, the dead emotions lying vacantly above them. One of the figures stirred and turned over, feet cold and deathly pale as they emerged from the sheets, landing squarely on the carpet.

Darkness surrounded her like death. Darkness and death. Death and darkness. They seemed to hold her within their hands and breathe their cold airs on her, sending a chill down her spine.

She'd come home two days ago. It had been…warming. He'd been with her ever since the hospital had released her, holding her arm, sharing her meals. Everything that used to frighten the shit out of her had extinguished for a few days.

And now something had returned.

She'd gotten to her feet for no reason. She'd wanted to walk…something inside had stirred and twisted. And all of a sudden it was screaming. Screaming with pain and hurt and sore and ACHE. God, she just ached.

She was stumbling now, feet taking her down the hall, towards the stairs. No, she didn't want to go down the stairs. She had to stay away from them. So she turned. Her feet weren't working. Her legs were shaking. She found the wall and crouched against it, grateful for its company.

She contemplating calling for him, but a little voice inside her head was telling her he was asleep. Telling her he didn't need her. She didn't need him.

But she did. She wanted. Needed. Longed for.

The pain was coming again, sharper and more violent. It shook her very being, bending her and breaking her at the same time.

Somewhere upstairs or downstairs, outside or inside, a radio was playing. The tinny voice rang in her head, blazing through ears that ached and screamed with each note.

Help, help. She needed help.

Help.

Help.

She couldn't say it. Couldn't feel it.

Something wet was running down her thighs, slick and strong-smelling. She brought a hand down her front, her fingers coming back sticky. No. No.

No. Help. Please. Help.

She needed him. Needed someone. She was losing…losing…

There was blood on her hand, her fingers, her legs. It was pooling at her feet, running in a sticky trail down her calf until it reached the floor. Gravity…gravity hurt.

Help. No. No. No.

No.

It didn't take long for her world to fall to black. She had started to cry, her hands against the wall, her knees in the wetness growing beneath her. And then it had all faded away.

…

The morning seemed cruel to his blurry eyes, sight that stung and tempted him with harsh reality. Elliot rolled onto his side, blinking at the empty pillow beside him. She'd been home for three day. Three days of resting, recuperating. They said the fetus would be fine. They said she'd recovered. They'd said everything would work itself out.

But she wasn't there, and so he forgot what they said. He panicked.

He threw back the sheets, spreading more light onto where she had once lain beside him. Uncomfortable perhaps. Lonely perhaps. But beside him all the same.

Nothing.

He took to his feet, surveying the rest of the room.

"Olivia," He spoke her name, remembering the roll of it on his tongue.

There came no response.

But then he saw it. Saw them.

The bloody footprints at the door.

_No. _

_Not this._

"Olivia," He repeated. Frantic. Searching. Fright. Fear.

Blood on the wall. Handprint on the white paint, and smeared over the doorknob.

_No._

Blood…everywhere. All over the floor. Caked black and maroon. Chipping like paint and then smearing in a gooey quality against his heels. He recoiled instantly, calling her name again.

Where…

How?

_No._

"Olivia!"

He followed the footprints, leaving his own behind.

Cold.

Alone.

"Olivia!"

Feet. He saw feet, stained black on the soles. They were laying outside the bathroom door at the end of the hall, not moving. Stirring. Not moving at all.

"No." He fell to his knees, found her body to hold against his own. "No!"

Her lower half was stained with blood. Her hands were cold. Her face was pale. She was…she was…

"Olivia," He whispered it now, ever so lightly. Tentatively, really.

Tears fell to wet the bloodstains, causing them to run like black ink on the pale surface of her porcelain arm.

So cold. So pale.

…

"A miscarriage."

They said it so matter-of-factly, so starkly. He looked up from his seat, rubbing his temples.

"So it's…it's…"

"Yes, Mr. Stabler." The nurse gave him a small smile, resting a hand on her shoulder.

"I see." His voice had broken dispassionately.

"Why don't you go in and see her now?"

He nodded, getting to his feet. His hand felt stiff, swollen. His legs seemed too big for his body as he lumbered after the woman, down the familiar hall. It was only a few days since they'd last wandered the halls of this hospital, contemplating a future that had now died amid a sea of ebony.

She was not asleep as she had been the first time he had entered. Her eyes turned to him, weary, vacant eyes that spoke of nothing more than pain. She smiled quietly when she saw him, straining her lips in a tense expression.

"I guess they can't get rid of me." She whispered, managing a small laugh.

"You don't need to worry about that. I'm sure they love having you." He took her hand, rested it to his cheek.

_Everything I am…_

_I am…_

_we were one for a day._

"Are you…are you alright?"

"I want to go home." Her voice was raw, honest. She gave him a sad look, her eyes deepening. "I want to get out of here."

"You lost a lot of blood, Liv."

"I lost the baby, too."

"I know." He kissed her palm, trying not to let the tears flow as freely as before. "I know."

"I wanted it too, you know. I'm…I'm so sorry."

"Jesus, Liv." He couldn't hold it in much longer. The dry sob exploded from his throat with a tired sigh. Her hand went to his cheek. "Why do you have to be sorry?"

"I know it's no one's fault." She said quietly, drawing back. "I just…I thought we could work things out."

"We have nothing to work out." He whispered, the guilt washing over him. "Everything will be fine."

"I want to go home."

"I know."

"Elliot," She began to cry again, one single, bold tear running down her cheek. "Elliot, I want to go home."

"Christ, I know." He fell onto her chest, letting her hug his head to her breast. He needed contact. Touch. Anything.

She let her mouth fall to his ear, even her breath barely a whisper. "Stay with me."

"I will."

He closed his fingers over her hand, the familiar gesture warming his soul. And then all faded to ebony as he closed his eyes, asleep at last.

Once they had been two.

Now they seemed more than ever to be one.


	30. Sunset

**ZOMG! MY MUSE HAS RETURNED! (and it brought all the DVDs back that it 'borrowed')**

**no, I just turned on the TV and Fault was on. so I was like all OMFG, I MUST WATCH THIS. and I watched it and felt like crying because I have left What If on the line for so long. I even forgot where I was going with it. luckily I had written all of that down, so I reviewed my notes and now I'm right back on track. there will be more drama and angst (I mean, what is this story without it?) but some more nitty gritty case stuff is to be included here and there. I don't want to bore the hell out of you with details about raping, but I don't want to wear you out on all that brooding dramatic intensity either. **

**so, update on my life: relationships are becoming fascinatingly dramatic, finals are in full bloom, and school's out for summer. which means you get more of my fic!love and I get more satisfaction from your review!love. if you don't review, I might send someone over there to beat you to a pulp. you won't like that, I'd guess. unless you are a gangstah anyhow, in which case you will come kick my sorry ass and make my house a pimp joint. **

**but hey. my family is full of lawyers. and psychiatrists. so…be afraid. we will attack you with our…uh…ballpoint pens. and large salaries. and brain power.**

**yeah. smart people kick ass.**

**ha, mariska's going to pop any day now. I have already declared official nanny rights, so PWNED noobs. and in other celebrity-related news, I have Nelly Furtado's Promiscuous stuck in my head. and goddamnit, I'm starting to really truly love it. hey, has anyone else seen the Da Vinci Code yet? it's actually pretty good. but Tom Hanks' hair really should have its own talk show…every once in a while I SWEAR I saw it crawl across his head and make hissing noises.**

**I am becoming so emo. applaud me, really. I'll probably become a better author because of it.**

**alright, without further ado….THE NEWEST UPDATE EXTROIRDINAIRE! (HOW THE HELL DO YOU SPELL THAT WORD!) YEAH YEAH YEAH!**

…

Three Months After 'Ebony'…

…

He stood on the edge of the dock, at the edge of forever. Somewhere between today and tomorrow, between never and always…that was where this sunset lived. It illuminated his face, framed his outline with a tangerine glow. It enveloped his soul in the cool, clean bath of a thousand promises, none of them yet broken. For just a moment in this sunset, he could forget about the body they'd found beneath the dock, the pale face of a girl who'd left her last breath on a sand dune two miles from here. He could forget about the bruises she'd worn on the fragile face of childhood.

"Hey."

He turned, finding a familiar set of eyes before him, lit by the fading lights in an amber blaze. She came to stand beside him, posture unassuming, her face still clear and undeceived by the passing memories. Her hands fell into the pockets of pants he'd seen her wear last Monday, breeze blowing across the shirt that tightened over the soft swells of breasts. She turned to him, expression suddenly accelerating with the intense frown, her most brooding attribute.

"It's not fair, is it?"

"What?" He felt her breath touching his cheek. Even with the wind against him, he could still taste the distinct flavor of her, that familiar scent and tantalizing tang of her lips that he had only so recently savored.

"Life. The world. Whatever it is that lets a six year old girl die on the first day she spends at a beach."

"There's been others."

"Her expression. It just got to me somehow. She almost looked…forgiving."

"Little kids are like that. They don't hold things very long. Grudges, you know." He let a small smile fall over his lips. "They let everything slip out their grasps before they've ever had a chance to really feel them."

"No one should have to die that young." She bit her lip, eyes wandering over the ocean, frothy pink as it churned against the silver shore. "It's not fair."

He caught that look in her eyes, the expression she'd worn a few months before. Lying in a hospital bed, cradling an empty womb, he'd seen the same depth to her pupils. The darkness in her irises as she'd turned from him to wipe away the growing tears. Today he knew her thoughts.

"I know," He brought her to his shoulder, let her rest there just long enough to shelter her soul from the showers of memories that were slipping by. "I know."

"It shouldn't have died that young, El." She whispered, her hand running over the back of his neck, a needy palm grasping for something, anything. "We shouldn't have lost it…"

"I know," He kissed the top of her head, feeling the sunset shrouding them from the world for a moment. Standing there in the last light of a dying day, he knew he'd do anything to get a part of that day…and a part of their life…back forever.

…

The back table at Moriarty's was already crowded before the entire party had taken its seats, with the conversation growing louder and alcohol circulating faster than change on Wall Street. The redhead had gotten to her feet just as the two seated across from her had begun an arm-wrestling contest for who would buy the hot girl at the bar the first drink. She moved through the crowd with a precise but lady-like gait, arriving at the bar and hovering lightly at the edge before leaning in to the tall and dark-haired man who was giving her a wide grin.

"So Case, when are you going to let me take you out to dinner already?"

She gave him a quick smile, her eyelashes fluttering. "Why don't you start by getting me a beer, Anthony?"

"Works for me." He handed her a tall glass of Sam Adams, and added a playful wink. "I like your hair like that."

"I thought you said the blonde was best on me."

"Well, I like it back to its original red now. It's very professional looking."

She leaned farther in, giving his hair a muss. "Anthony, you'll never get laid if you keep lying like that."

He grinned, his boyish eyes sparkling. "I think you like my lying."

"I think I like your beer." She gave him the satisfaction of one last smile. "Keep the refreshments coming to our table, Ant, or I might have to beat you."

"That doesn't sound entirely unpleasant." He called after her as she retreated to the back table, taking a seat between a tentative looking Asian and a balding man brooding into his glass.

A few minutes later, the last of the table's occupants were sliding between the rows of busy customers, looking frazzled. Greetings were expressed and drinks exchanged as coats slid off and chairs pulled out.

"Sorry we're late." Elliot said, rubbing his hand over the back of his head, cautious eyes flashing onto his partner. "Went a bit overtime on the case today."

"I thought I told you both not to overdo yourselves on the Curry case." Cragen snapped, giving them both a wide frown. "It's not healthy, is it George?"

Dr. Huang looked up from his glass and attempted a nod. "Er, no. It can be a bit traumatizing after a while. Am I right?"

"Of course he's right. He's a damn doctor." Cragen's eyes flashed dangerously. "I've been telling you both not to overwork yourselves, and yet you blatantly disregard my orders." He rolled his eyes. "Why do I frequently feel like I'm working with a bunch of teenagers?"

"Did you guys see those two girls making out in the front?" Munch's head snapped back around, his eyes widening with an enthused luster. "It's kind of nasty and kind of hot all at the same time!"

Cragen's head fell into his palms. "I rest my case."

"How are you doing?" Casey leaned in closer to her friend, who was twisting a lock of her dark hair around a careless finger.

"Fine," Olivia shrugged, her voice lowering. "Tough case today, that's all."

"And how is…everything else?" Casey had been the first one outside of Elliot to know about the miscarriage, but certainly not the last. "You're feeling healthy and everything, right?"

"I'd tell you if there was something wrong." Olivia said quickly, brushing her off with a wave of her hand, her other fingers wrapping around an empty glass. Casey watched as Olivia leaned into Elliot's neck, a light whisper reaching his ear. He gave her a quick frown, biting his lip.

"Drinks are on me." Casey announced, her eyes still resting longer on the tight faces of the couple beside her. "This is simply so I can control how plastered you all get."

"Unless we get you plastered first." Fin said, laughing.

"Which you won't, since I have sworn not to get drunk tonight."

"Hey Munch," Huang leaned closer to the man on his right. "Do you think I should buy some drinks for those girls?"

"You mean the ones making out?" Munch frowned, giving the front of the room a quick glance.

"Yeah, they're kind of hot."

Munch sighed, pouring more beer into his friend's glass. "George, my comrade, we must entrust in you the vast knowledge involved in getting laid before you are the lost to the epic darkness of the rest of manhood. Because it looks like you are pretty far along to leading a life on the dark side as it is."

Huang raised a confused eyebrow. "Uh, thanks?"

Olivia was resting a hand on Elliot's thigh, her eyes still dark and unreadable. "I want to go home." She whispered into his ear, her breath lingering and gathering moisture on his tepid skin. "Something feels wrong."

"You're just being apprehensive, Liv. I never saw the car you were talking about."

"I know it followed us, Elliot."

"I don't think so, Liv. I never saw it."

"It was there. I know it was there, El." She whispered harshly, removing her mouth from his ear.

And as she did so, three bullets ricocheted across the room.

…

In 2.3 seconds, there is very little you can do in the face of an incoming bullet. But Elliot Stabler succeeded in diving to the ground, taking Olivia with him. For 2.3 seconds he cradled her beneath him, the same 2.3 seconds that Munch and Huang were turning to the front of the room and Fin was reaching for another beer and Cragen was getting up to use the bathroom and Casey was glancing across the crowd to get another glimpse of Anthony. The same 2.3 seconds that three bullets were screaming towards the table, two hitting flesh and one lodging in the wall.

There was screaming and chaos when the bullets had stopped, but that can be expected. Fin and Munch were to their feet and raising their own guns, moving through the people and yelling back to their companions. Munch was bleeding from his right shoulder, but it looked as though the bullet had only grazed his skin. Casey was kneeling on the floor, her eyes flashing over the sea of crying people and calling out a name when the familiar face of a bartender did not appear. Huang was bent over Cragen, who was clutching a hand to his side and blinking at the blood that was being quelled between his fingers.

Everything had stopped. And then started. And it felt like it was about to stop again.

She stirred beneath him, felt his weight against her, felt those arms wrapped protectively around her like a bastion of strength. He held her tight in his grip, unable to release her from his fingers, keeping her small and safe within his arms.

"El…El, are you alright?" She whispered, turning to face him and finding his neck.

"It's okay." He whispered, finally sitting up, letting her fall back onto him. "I've got you."

"Cragen," She said abruptly, turning to the captain who was now shuddering against the cold floor. "Jesus…" She pulled away from her partner, her lover. She let go of his hand and reached for someone else, and yet his presence was still there, hovering over her heart with angel's wings. Elliot never really left her anymore. He was always there…somehow, always there.

…

They were huddled beside the ambulance, the stolid party of companions lined up on the sidewalk, their expressions and the weight in their eyes connecting them in a deeper kind of way. One was giving a small wave to a man being loaded into the ambulance, his hand on his bleeding shoulder. A redhead was sitting on the curb between the rest, her eyes wide as she stared at the street where her unconscious employer had just been driven away. The shortest of the males was standing above her, giving her a comforting pat on the back. Another two were huddled closely together, arms hooked and hands interlaced within the folds of one's pockets.

"They were coming for us." One of the two whispered, her head falling onto his shoulder. "Those bullets were meant for us."

Elliot gave her a quick kiss on the forehead, his hand tightening around hers. "I know."


	31. Trouble

**I'm really an evil person, you know. and if you haven't figured that out already, you should have made the connection simply by my lack of responsibility for vows and/or promises made during the course of this work. I probably shouldn't have said with the last chapter that I would be updating with great haste. that was sort of a white lie. because although my intentions were wholly accepted in the wide expanse of my mind, and even though my morals were in all the right places- I truly and fully intended to go through with my plan- other plans came into play, just as other plans always do. I've been at my grandmother's wilderness estate (I suppose that's a good enough name for it) and I've been mowing the great thing (which is a two day task, considering how massive the lawn and garden area is) and washing all of the very tall windows and cleaning out the three guest bedrooms that have been accumulating antique purchases, and helping my grandmother clean out the attic. I got 100 dollars for the whole thing, so I'm not complaining. but knowing all of my readers are left in suspense (but isn't that tradition?) was something dreadful hanging over my shoulders for weeks. I apologize, dear readers. I love you all and it grieves me to know you're all dissatisfied with my work.**

**it grieved me so very much that I was forced to drozzle miserably in the drizzle (FLOODING ZOMG) and listen to Brand New and smear mascara around my eyes and apply overkilled eyeliner. but even though I lose a year of my life with each angsty word I think, I am also gaining an artistic drop of blood in my veins to replace those genetically altered selective breeding shots my family's been molding for. someday when I'm exhibiting a Gothic Edwardian fashion sense and sipping a coffee on some dusty street corner in Prague, and you, one of my unfortunate readers, comes waltzing by, give me a wave. tell me you love me.**

**and I will hug you back.**

**wow, staying with my grandmother for lengthened periods of time makes me talk like a Scrabble-playing aristocrat. the same effect seems to happen to my little sister. she said indubitable today. WERGH WELSH OLD WOMEN! STOP IMPOSING PERFECT GRAMMAR ON YOUR GRANDCHILDREN! **

**ALSO VERY VERY VERY IMPORTANT:**

**community. is now (and damnit, I wanted to make one) a Law and Order franchise FANFICTION AWARDS site and if you all LOVE ME DEARLY you can NOMINATE ME PLEASE. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE. I AM GOING TO COMPLETE THIS STORY TONIGHT AND TOMORROW NIGHT SO PLEASE NOM WHEN IT'S DONE. AND DON'T FORGET ALL MY OTHER STUFF! EHEHEHEHEHEHEHE…**

**because I am definitely nominating some other people. SO PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE GIVE ME A NOM!**

**you know you love me. that's why I give you the next chapter:**

…

It was so predictable, really. The empty warehouse, the row of men, crouching or kneeling in the cement dust, the tall men in their suits fingering the triggers of AK's. He watched them with a quiet confidence, orange against grey. Today, this would be a drug, pulsing in his dark veins among the blue blood and the still-buzz of alcohol that droned in his ear.

He took a step down the metal stairs, shoes clanging against the steel and bringing the chins of his captives to the sky. Their eyes were still narrowed with suspicion, but there was a brightness in them he liked.

"Hello," He said softly, removing his sunglasses and setting them squarely in his front pocket. "I don't know what they offered you- drugs, cash, women…" He took a quick breath, eyes scanning the dark faces of those before him. "Children, perhaps. But you will be receiving them in due time, you have my word. I'm not really sure what sort of system you are used to operating on, but…we have careful arrangements here. We appreciate your services; for those services, we will even treat you as humans, and not the parasitic perverts you have past been accused of being."

Their eyes were just as calculating as his own, he saw that now. They were reading him, scanning him, searching his soul like an open book. These were criminals, pedophiles, serial rapists. You couldn't trust them as far as you could throw a stone, but he could employ them. Own them. Yes, they were monsters, but they were _his_ monsters.

He knew the differences between them, but there was that similarity, too. It thrilled him with a desperate rush, and he smiled.

He took another step toward them, shoes clacking loudly on the steel stair. "We've reviewed your files. Memorized them, really. But that's what it takes. Now we know you better than your own mother, I'd assume. Everything from your dental records to the number of bruises you left between a girl's thighs to the number of bastards you've fathered. So attempting to lie, or bend the truth…it won't get you very far. The one thing we do appreciate is the business of an honest tradesman. So don't play with me." A small smile spread across his full lips, lighting up his face in an almost feminine way. "I don't play very nice."

Later, they'd driven him across the bridge and treated him to dinner in Manhattan. Lights played with his irises when the wine was poured, the confusion of his life clearing up with each taste.

"I'm a businessman, Montgomery." The grey haired man across from him was looking for a cigarette, his pockets coming up empty time and time again. "And although I'm intrigued by everything you've done for this entire…_ordeal_, I can't help but wonder how far you're going to take this."

"You said you're a businessman." Ripley handed him a cigarette, reaching for the lighter he kept beside his wallet. "Have you ever followed something to the top?"

"Only in stocks and dreams, Rip."

"Then you understand my passion. I can fulfill a promise. I can do this. So I will."

"Your father's headstrong qualities suit you well." He laughed, taking a quick puff and coughing. "The Montgomery traits are too obvious in you, Ripley."

"Gene pools are especially satisfying when they've been selectively bred for three hundred years, don't you think?" He lit up himself, grinning on the inside. Secondhand smoke and false promises…

The waitress was approaching, eyes strained. "I'm sorry sir, but you can't smoke in here. It's New York State law."

Ripley gave her a small smile, taking another smoke. "Of course." He said softly, not moving to put out the cigarette. The man across from him continued to smoke, giving Ripley an expectant grin.

"Really, sir…" She said, waiting and letting her eyes fall to his face. "You'll have to take that outside."

"Of course." He repeated, his smile wider. He blinked sincerely, not moving from his seat.

She hesitated, biting her lip and unsure of what to say. "I…I don't want to have any trouble, sir. You can take that right outside, and come back inside when you've finished. The other guests don't appreciate the smoke."

"Right." He stood up finally, moving to the door she'd pointed out and disposing of his cigarette there. His cell phone rang. Damn.

"Rip?"

Her voice was tense, and yet controlled. She could keep the chaos at bay now- she always had before.

"Rip, how's everything going?"

"Fine." He said, staring across the street at a taxi's occupants emptying onto the sidewalk, awkwardly lugging a suitcase behind them.

"Look Rip, my father's not satisfied with how things are going right now for us, and he says he's going to be calling you soon. I just don't think this is a good move for us, Rip."

The woman in the tiny black dress struggled to pull her luggage onto the steps, and rang the bell. He watched as the door opened, and the man who emerged scowled as she hurried past him, into the foyer he could not see. Ripley blinked as the door slammed shut, angry thoughts spilling through the cracks.

"Rip, are you still there?"

"Yeah, I'm right here."

"What do you plan to do about it?"

"I'm in a meeting right now."

"But he wants to pull the plug on this, Rip. You have to do something about it."

"Well, what are _you_ doing?"

"Hoping he doesn't drain your career Rip, what the hell _else_ would I be doing? It's your success that's on the line, not mine. I can still marry the next up and coming businessman, remember? Daddy doesn't care what happens to you."

He bit his lip, trying not to yell. "Is _that_ what this was all about, then? You needed me to get back in your family's inner circle, and now that you're there, it doesn't _matter_ what happens to me?"

"Jesus Rip, why do you think I'm calling you and trying to tell you ahead of time? I'm the only one left who _is_ trying to help you-"

He rolled his eyes. "And a whole lot of good that's done me. Glad I've got the Bates girls to back me up, of course…"

"Enough Rip, I get the point."

'And while we're at it, does your father want to ruin me simply because I'm doing something beneficial on behalf of his dead son, or just because I've been fucking his daughter for a few months?"

"Rip!"

"So then it's-"

"Rip, he knows about Jonathan."

"That he was a schizophrenic? That he was some senseless pervert that I am somehow protecting?"

"Ripley, don't you _dare_ insult-"

"Took him long enough, didn't it? You'd think your father of all people would understand your brother before the rest of us did."

"He knows what Jonathan did to the women."

Ripley stopped, blinking at the cold concrete of the sidewalk. "And what does he think about it?"

Her voice dropped, and he knew she was angry. "He doesn't think what we're doing is the answer."

"How did he find out?"

"I have no idea. Probably how he always finds out things he shouldn't. The Bates patriarch's eternal occupation is rubbing his fucking nose in the rest of his family's business, remember?"

"And what does _he_ suggest we do about it?"

"He hasn't said. But it won't involve our plans, that's for sure. I attempted to explain what was going on, but he already knew. He knows about everything, it seems."

"Does he know about us?"

"Who _doesn't_, Ripley? Not like it matters- everyone was happy enough when we went to the dinner. The troublesome Bates daughter finally found an appropriate match and everything…"

"I know." He let out a long sigh. "So he doesn't approve of us again. Somehow I think I half-expected this anyway."

"Just keep it in mind when he calls you to rant. No matter what he says, it's still a good idea Rip. We can still go through with it."

Ripley eyed his watch. He had about four minutes to get across town. "Your father would argue with us if we were saving his life, wouldn't he?"

"What I don't understand is why he is objecting to this in the first place. He loved Jonathan more than anyone else, and he's been ruthless as hell before for people he cared half as much about. Why isn't he reacting well to this?"

"He's your father. Are we supposed to understand?" He bit his lip, checking his watch again. "I have to go. I'll call you later."

"Be careful. You know that if he could, he'd practically-"

He hung up.

Inside, the steel-eyed man who'd occupied the table with him was running a finger around the edge of his wine glass, perking up when his guest returned.

"Have a nice smoke?"

"Business call." He gave him a knowing smile. "Look Arthur, I really need to make a meeting in about ten minutes, and it's across town."

"I can get you a ride-"

"No, a cab is fine. I don't have much time, so I'll have to leave you now. Fabulous meal at any rate- bravo on the wine selection again. We'll talk later, I assume?"

"Of course. Go off and be that diligent businessman your father's always bragging about." He waved a fatherly hand toward the door, and Ripley nodded, grinning once more as he headed out to the stoop where he hailed a cab.

His ride was quick, easy. They pulled up in front of a concrete building, an older sterile-looking apartment complex that was still occupied by wealthy owners. Ripley had been renting an apartment for a few months now, explaining to his father that it was for emergency trips into the city. No one had protested.

The guards had let him in, and he'd gone up the four floors by elevator, the car still smelling like paint and delivered dinners.

His floor was quiet, as usual. It was rare he ever met anyone coming to and from his apartment. Most of the people who lived here were either elderly or had homes elsewhere, living here only on business trips just as he normally did. He turned the key, and the door to his room swung open, and the figure waiting for him let out a soft greeting from the bedroom.

"Hey Missy," He grunted, taking off his tie, watching her stretch lazily across the bed.

"You're ten minutes late." She writhed against the sheets, leather straps across her thighs and hips tightening into her flesh. Her voice was as sulky as her eyes, dark and brooding. "Take a shower- you smell like a bar. I want you clean before you stick anything in me."

…

Olivia rolled over on what she had thought was her bed, but was now revealed to be the floor in front of the couch, a blanket slung across her lower half and the nearest pillow a few feet away from being useful. The phone was ringing in her ear, stinging and screaming like a siren as she sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and groping lazily for the cord stretching across her coffee table. _Ten forty five in the morning._ But she'd fallen asleep at six, maybe seven…three hours ago? Could she honestly remember?

She missed the call, fell back onto her aching spine and ignored the pain that throbbed mercilessly in her bones. She'd spent six hours on her feet last night, standing outside a hospital room and trying to keep her eyes from closing while her body shook like a seizure victim. She'd finally staggered home when Elliot had arrived, letting her sleep while he kept watch over their comrades' rooms. Munch had passed out on the way home, his arm a bloody mess and his face white as a sheet, causing them to turn the car around and return him to the hospital. Cragen was still in intensive care, falling in and out of consciousness. In every essence of the words, her small and fragile world was beginning to fray at the edges.

She wasn't even wearing her clothes- she'd ripped off her shirt and pants from work the following day and fallen asleep on the floor in her underwear. Exhausted and sore as hell, it had taken her four lousy minutes to lock her door, as she turned and returned the knob, something inside her screaming when it didn't immediately close. She was scared, she was tired, she wasn't sure where she was. All she wanted was to have someone pick her up and hold her against them, rocking her back and forth until sleep could come gently to her sore body.

But sleep had hit her like a five ton boulder to the head and knocked her out for hours, a train screaming into the station and leaving her breathless even now. The very action of sleep itself exhausted her, and in her mind bullets continued to ricochet back and forth, claiming her friends' lives and leaving her afraid. In her dreams, she cradled his body beneath her own and cried out for mercy, for help, for something. But no one came and nothing happened, and he died right there, her kisses on his cheek.

The phone rang again, and this time she made it, pressing the receiver to her cheek and letting out a harsh whisper of a greeting.

"Liv? You're awake?"

"I was until you called." She tried to smile despite the pain, and found with his presence so close it was easier than she'd imagined.

"Sorry," He said, his voice suddenly sheepish. "I just thought…only if you were awake and everything…"

"What is it?"

"Martha's here," Martha being Cragen's wife, "But they're taking Munch in for surgery, and I want to make sure he comes out okay. Unfortunately, I've got to pick up the kids from Kathy's, and I won't be able to make it over on time."

"You want me to drive to Kathy's and get them?" She raised an eyebrow. "Is Kathy home?"

"I asked her to drop them off, but she's already left for work. They're just sitting around waiting for me. Obviously neither one can drive, so…" His voice dropped off expectantly, and she sighed.

"Yes, I'll go get them." She stood up, stretching and letting out a long yawn. "I need to get dressed first, but I'll probably be over there in about a half hour, depending on the traffic."

"That's fine, as long as they're with you soon." He let out a short breath, as if he'd been holding it in for the conversation. "I want them close after what happened, you know?"

Her voice was softer as she spoke now, her eyes darker when she caught her reflection in the window across from the bathroom sink. "How is everyone?"

"Fin's asleep- I sent him home after you. I don't know where Casey or Huang are, but Casey called earlier and she said she was alright. They've got to stop Munch's bleeding, and they've got to repair something on his arm. I don't know what. That's what the surgery's for. Cragen's…Cragen punctured a lung. He's not breathing. They don't know what's going to happen there."

"He'll pull through, we know that." She knew it was a lie, and she knew that he had picked up on it, but she said it anyway. Just to say it. Just to put it out there with the rest of the false hopes and dreams their relationship had garnered.

"Yeah…" His voice wasn't skeptical, but it lacked its usual resilience. "Alright, you know the address?"

"No."

"It's about thirty minutes away from you." He said as he read off the directions to the apartment Kathy was renting in Brooklyn. "You shouldn't have any trouble finding it either- the balloons from the twins' birthday are still hanging from the window."

Lizzie and Dickie had turned fourteen last month, and Elliot had taken them to Coney Island for the day. At the last minute, Lizzie had asked if Olivia was going, and all of a sudden she'd joined their group, following them down the boardwalks and helping them eat their cotton candy. For a few hours, they'd been somewhat of a family- laughing at each other's bad jokes, sharing smiles. When the twins had run off to the shooting gallery, (where Lizzie had beaten Dickie 40-5) Elliot had pulled her into a photo booth and shared a kiss. She still had the pictures on her dresser.

Before they'd left, the four of them had caught the eye of a photographer on the boardwalk, who'd immediately asked to take their picture. They'd all stood together, bodies pressed in like sardines, arms touching and hands holding. Smiles appeared, eyes squinting against the fading sun.

"Stand in front of your mom." The photographer nodded to Dickie, motioning for him to switch places with Lizzie.

"Oh, I'm not-" Olivia began, grinning sheepishly and feeling her face flush red.

But Dickie just nodded. "Okay." He said before her voice could be heard, turning to her and giving her a quick smile that only the two of them could share.

In that moment, Elliot had caught her eye, and something in them seemed much brighter, lighting up her own face and the whole sky around them. They stood at the edge of the boardwalk, sunlight fading into a brilliant purple and fuchsia above the sea, and she could not help but smile. When the picture came in the mail three days later, she saw there were tears in both of their eyes.

This morning, she could not smile as brightly as that sunny day, knowing the dark things hanging over her head were only going to grow gloomier as the hours progressed. She pulled on a sweatshirt she found on the back of her door, jeans that were still hanging from her chair. At this moment, she wanted a coffee and a foot-rub, but everything else in her head was blocking these few needs from existence, reminding her of the imminent danger in two of her closest friends' lives. Her keys were still on the counter, exactly where she'd left them. Everything was where she'd left it, but nothing was the same.

She practically fell into her car, giving her neighbor a small wave as they both pulled onto the street and left their small existences for a day in the busy life of the city. Around her, the city was already wide awake, smells circulating up and down the street and weaving lines of people making their way down the sidewalk. She ignored them all, finding that after all these years of realizing a life as one in a million other existences, you didn't notice the busy streets anymore, the bustling of people and the traffic that never truly stopped. You could focus on the simplicity of your day, and let it all pass by.

She drove along, eyes fading in the mirror. It had been two months since the real danger had reared its ugly head, and then it had stopped. For two months, they had found no more leads on the case, and the only thing they heard from the Bates family was the occasional lawsuit in the mail, which Casey quickly cleared up before any serious problems arose. They'd started working on other things, back to their standard rapes and standard victims. Life continued as life always does, making up for the chaos you leave behind with an unsettling calm that never lets you relax. It was like the eye of the storm- somehow, at sometime, this would all return, and they'd be head-on into another maelstrom.

Other things had matured with the months, like her relationship with Elliot. Casey continued to be the only one who knew anything juicy about it; if anyone else knew, they didn't let on. But juicy it was no longer, unless on occasion- they'd grown out of the honeymoon stage and entered the quiet mutual continuation where each is painfully aware of the other, but it is a brilliant and wonderful pain that hits you in the soul rather than the skin. They shared dinners and beds, intermittently finding time for sex when they could. But the relationship no longer was about sex. (though neither was going to be giving _that_ up anytime soon…) Instead, just being with Elliot was enough of a thrill, every touch sensual simply because it came from him.

They matured slowly, with the assurance of each other. They grew as one.

She pulled up in front of the apartment, yellow balloons falling limply against the grate of the fire escape beneath the window. Kathy hadn't gone through with her plan to cut off Elliot's visitation rights after all, and somehow she had anticipated it. He'd put up enough of a fight before…why not now? Why not then? Elliot fought, and that was how he lived. He fought for every last day he could spend in this strange normality they haunted. Olivia knew it almost as well as he did. Maybe that's why they were attracted to each other in the first place.

A breeze hit her as she stepped out of the car, making the spring air suddenly frigid against her skin. She was cold enough inside; why did she have to tingle everywhere else too? She stepped up the stairs, fingers resting on the button for the second floor apartment. A feeling had passed over her, a feeling that told her in this moment she was one insignificant life in this sea of people who were all living and dying around her. She meant nothing to the strangers she passed in the street. As she pushed the button, she realized for the first time she was genuinely scared.

But the feeling passed when a voice filled the speaker box.

"Olivia?" It was Lizzie, her tone upbeat. "We'll be right down."

"Do you mind if I come in?" She remembered what Elliot had said before, about leaving them alone. They were becoming a part of her in their own way, inhabiting her thoughts when she wasn't aware of it. So this was what it was like to worry all the time, to spend away part of yourself protecting things that are so much brighter and stronger than you know you'll ever be. Motherhood. It was strange and distant to her, but it was there. She had been close to it once, but that seemed a very long time ago right now on these cold steps.

"No, come on in." The door unlocked, and she pushed through, the inside hall almost as chilly as the outside air, unfortunately.

They were bounding down the stairs in front of her, small smiles on their maturing faces. Someday Lizzie would have her mother's mouth, her light hair. But her eyes seemed to belong only to her father, the changing expressions sparkling with the same brightness when she caught your attention. Dickie's face was a lot like his mother's as well, but he cracked his father's half smile when he saw Olivia, nodding at her as they shuffled out the door and boarded the car.

"How is everyone?" Lizzie asked, her usual concern shining in her eyes. Olivia figured that Elliot had explained on the phone why he couldn't pick them up, so she was forced to be honest with them. She ignored the traffic, remembered the man she loved.

"They're not sure right now. But everyone's holding up, so we hope they'll be back to normal soon. Your dad's keeping them strong right now."

"When are you going back to work?"

"Tomorrow, probably. This afternoon if I can."

"Do you see that?" Dickie's voice broke the conversation in two, his tone identical to his father's when there was trouble.

"See what?" Olivia asked, turning around momentarily as they came to a red light.

"There's a car that followed us from the house. It was parked out there when we left and it took off with us."

"God, Dickie." Lizzie shook her head, rolling her eyes at her brother. "It's a one way street, butthead. Where else are they going to go but the same direction as us?"

"They've been with for six blocks, Lizzie. And they have tinted windows."

"So does like every other SUV in creation." Lizzie shrugged. "He does this all the time, you know. Paranoid, I think."

"Olivia?" Dickie gave her a strange look, one that expressed fear and called for guidance.

"I see it." She said, her eyes never leaving the car that was following not far behind. "Don't look at it, guys. Just leave it alone."

She took a quick turn to the right. The car appeared soon after. Her stomach sank, everything in her beginning to melt. She had to keep her cool, maintain that balance everyone praised her for. It was just like the job, just like a case, just like every other day in every other life.

But there were two other bodies in the car this time, two people she would rather die than see harmed.

She was unarmed. She was almost out of gas. But she was going to put up a hell of a fight before these people made their move.

"Lizzie, get out my cell phone. It's in my pocket."

Lizzie reached across and tentatively pulled out the phone, opening it to the screen.

"Dial your father." She instructed, nodding at the phone. "Tell him where we are, and that we need help now." When she saw Lizzie's eyes, she attempted a smile. "It's fine, hon. I just want to take every precaution we can, alright?"

Lizzie nodded, bringing the phone to her ear.

Olivia took another turn. This time the car was faster, and she had to swerve to the right to avoid hitting a car. They were on a one way street, going the opposite way.

"Shit," She whispered, pulling to the left and out of the way. The car continued to follow, and her suspicions were confirmed.

They were after them.

Meanwhile, Lizzie was speaking softly into the phone, knuckles white as she gripped the edge of the seat beside Olivia. "Dad? It's Lizzie. We, uh…we're in trouble."


	32. Hero

**BUGGERFUCK I AM SUCH A MORON…**

**I AM SORRY I DID THAT TO ALL OF YOU AND IT WON'T HAPPEN AGAIN. I YELLED. I WAS STUPID. I DIDN'T UPDATE FOREVER.**

**I AM SO SORRY.**

**but now that Olivia is gone and Dani is being a FEWL on this season, I figured you needed some relief. so here is some OEness because you ain't getting it on the show right now. Dick Wolf gets another broom handle up intestine from me.**

**so here's a new chapter. I'm sorry it's not long, but I've got to work some things out and I don't want to let you down again with another stupid decision. I made a lot of mistakes and I want to make up for them, so I hope you guy scan hang in there and count on me for a bit. I won't fail you like I did before.**

…

It took him almost a heartbeat to interpret the message. Maybe two blinks of an eye to react. In the time anyone else would have inhaled, he was already on his way toward the door, trying to remember if his gun was still in the glove box.

His mind was unreliably one-track this morning, pure adrenaline replacing the blood in his veins as he refused the red lights that he encountered. He had a fleeting vision of blood all over his hands and his foot hit the floor, dangerous and willed and pissed as hell.

The car was suddenly too slow for him and he held himself back from the urge to get out and simply run his legs off, but common sense still nagged at the back of his mind. It pulled him toward the one place he needed to be right now. If Cragen wasn't almost dead, his voice would be on the com right now, steady but angry, wondering what the hell he thought he was doing. If Munch and Fin weren't still plastered to hospital beds, they might be right behind him, eyes wide and wild as they kept on his bumper. But he was alone now, and the kids were alone, and he was the only one standing up for either side.

The street signs were unreadable at his speed, and none of the other cars seemed willing to participate in the drag race he was trying to win, but he swerved in and out just as he would in a chase, gun ready on the seat beside him. Partnerless for the first time, he felt the emptiness in the car and it made him drive faster, his heart pounding even harder, attempting to burst through his ribs with every pulse.

He found the street, the two cars pulled up side by side in front of a drug store. He understood Olivia's strategy and he was smiling in spite of himself. A gun in each hand, he made his way for the door.

…

_Get out of isolation. Find a large group of people. Attempt to blend._

It was the only thing she could come up with, and she was hoping to god that it was working. A kid on either side, they took shaking steps down the first aisle, clinging to each other with naught but desperate breaths, wondering if the other was going to pull them through this. They would all step before the bullet if it meant the other two were to live, but none of them would leave each other's company now, still huddled awkwardly as they walked down fresh blue and white tiles. The air smelled like cleaning products and their breaths were suddenly frail and stale.

A man had stepped in front of them.

"Stay with me," She whispered, taking their hands. They responded only with their actions, willing themselves to slow their steps so that they walked in sync. They passed a woman shopping with her infant son, a man looking at sunscreen. They remained unobserved, another set of strangers in a world of unnoticed existences. They squeezed her palms, Lizzie letting out a small gasp as Olivia turned, seeing the knife catching in the light as it peered out from the man's sleeve. He gave them a strange smile, one that could almost have passed for reassurance as he stepped closer.

If she let out a scream, they'd go for the kids. If she tried to fight, they'd kill her. There were three of them and one of her and with the kids beside her, the odds had never been worse.

_Elliot, where the hell are you?_

But at that moment, a gunshot rang out in the stark cleanliness of the scene before her. The woman ahead of them screamed and plucked her baby from the seat of the cart, crouching to the floor with her son against her chest. Olivia turned, watching as the man closest to them slumped to the floor, black and red smearing against the boxes of cereal behind him.

Elliot was standing an arm's length away, gun in an outstretched hand.

There were two more, their guns drawn as they stood on either side of him. He held his arms up on both sides and cocked both weapons, his eyes remaining on Olivia. She found herself unable to breathe, her hands tightening around the shoulders of Lizzie and Dickie.

"Drop 'em," The taller one said, nodding at the weapons in his hands. The other man was waving his piece around, causing everyone else in the store to yelp and drop to their knees, covering their heads as they crouched behind the nearest product displays. When Elliot didn't respond, the man frowned. "I said drop 'em!"

Elliot lowered his arms, and then crouched until his knees had hit the floor with a deafening thump. Yet he had not dropped his guns.

There was a click as the man above him cocked his piece, turning it now in Olivia's direction. "I told you to drop your guns."

Elliot did as he was told, finally letting them fall to the ground beside him. The second man hurried forward to pick them up, bending over and reaching for the nearest piece. Just as he had bent across Elliot's kneeling shape, he'd come alive with a flurry of hands, a crunch of bones and flesh silencing the air around them as the man fell to Elliot's feet. Now standing, Elliot set the gun to the taller man's temple, breathing hard, flecks of blood sitting lightly on his sweating skin.

"God help me if I don't kill you now." Elliot whispered, pulse pounding against the cold metal of the gun. The man's hands were empty now, his breath slow and weak.

The man's eyes flickered momentarily onto his companion, lying motionless on the floor, his face a mess of blood and bone. When his pupils met Elliot's, his brows furrowed, his throat tightening with each word. He knew he was a dead man, and he was accepting it. "What the hell do you want?" He whispered, staring into his opponents eyes.

Elliot's eyes narrowed, the gun pressing harder into the son of a bitch's skull. "I want you to stay away from my family, you mother-fucking bastard." And with that, he knocked the man above his ear with the butt of his gun, a move almost as swift as a shot itself. The man crumpled to the tile, eyes fluttering closed as they rolled into the back of his head.

There was nothing but the sound of heavy breathing for a few moments, stiffening the air with the ragged edge of reality. And then he turned. And their eyes met. And she stepped forward just as he was moving closer.

And then he held all three of them, just for a few minutes longer. Just so that it counted.

…


	33. Broken

**well, here's another chapter. the decision has been made and I CAN'T BELIEVE I STARTED THIS STORY WHEN I WAS IN THE WINTER OF MY SOPHOMORE YEAR. I am now a Junior, and have finally had my first share of a slightly successful relationship (two months, woohoo) only to break up with him about a week ago. Icky situation. So I finally know what love isn't supposed to feel like. Double woohoo. And now I don't have to complain about not being able to drive anymore. **

**A lot of people have actually PMed me about the new chapter, and I am so happy to hear from everyone again. I wish I hadn't been such an idiot and taken the time off, but now I'm going to try to make up for it. Therefore: another new chapter, COMPLETE WITH LURVE. That's right I owe you all something big (maybe even blow jobs for the select few, Ahah.) **

**Yeah, so anyone else kind of hate Dani to death? I've pretty much plotted her destruction a gazillion times. But liekwhoa, I have seen some super awesome scripts from the next couple of episodes later on, and there is an OLIVIA WET DREAM!!! Not even kidding. There is a moan. And continual whispering of his name. A-HAH THAT, DICK WOLF!**

**so here it is. love you all more than ever before. (and the switch between past and present is on purpose. significance and such. and laziness on my part, mayhaps.)**

…

Finger brushed against the back of his neck and his eyes flew open, slowly and surely and there she was. Sitting beside him with the cup of coffee he didn't remember asking for, eyes just as tired as his were now, face just as worn as his had always been. In the blink of an eye they'd become the victims, and now he wanted it to stop: the questions, the interviews, the files he couldn't write himself. Cragen said they couldn't do their own case, couldn't touch their own paperwork.

"You're off the case, that's it." Cragen had said earlier, standing above the desk with the phone in his hand, humming discontentedly at its unbalanced state. "You're the vics, and you're sure as hell not going to go stampeding into investigations meant for finding your own perp."

But the hell with it. He didn't care. He wanted out of it right now- out of the business, the job, the life. He wanted back to the little world they'd made on those nights when everything else had begun to implode, back to the tiny corner of the world where things were warm and moist with hope. She was falling asleep again, she was falling onto his shoulder. He was wondering what the difference was, because either one was something he needed.

Love isn't about birds and cathedrals and soft songs that play when you're still up at midnight. Love is about elbows and shoulders and awkward places to lay heads when everything else is covered. Love is about bodies, colliding and drifting and then colliding again.

The kids had gone home with Kathy. He knew there were policemen everywhere outside her apartment now, keeping constant watch over his two last refuges in the dangerous future. He wasn't sure what was going to happen to everyone in a few years. Maybe he'd be lost without the kids. Maybe he'd be happy with them. Maybe he'd be dead.

She shifted against him, cheek brushing against the inside of his jacket as she settled onto his arm, eyes closing again in exhaustion. One thing was for certain, and he smiled at that one thing when it laid a quiet hand on the back of his wrist.

"Are we almost done?" She whispers into the cuff of his sleeve, the palm of his hand, the edge of his neck, his well-accommodated shoulder. Her voice manages to fill his whole being with this insatiable sense of completeness. Here in the dark and busy corridor between daylight and offices, the precinct and the reality, here he's finding comfort in her. They are still and it reassures him that chaos only leads to calm.

"I think so."

"Now I know why all of those rape victims are in such a rush to get home."

"At least we're not on the case anymore." But he hates being the victim, the dangerous one, the timebomb in the corner of the precinct. Before he was made of predictable turmoil, but now someone else was calling the shots on the distribution of common chaos. Now he could no longer storm head-on at the problem, screaming and cussing and fighting for the last gasp. Now he had her to follow behind and to walk beside and to hold onto when the weakness came. He had memories of sweat-soaked nights and quiet afternoons and tiny little beings who could never realize their fates.

"I'd rather be solving the problem than cowering from it." She rolls against him again and then draws back, turbulent waves slowing when they meet the rock and find it can crumble. "But I'm so tired…" She could insert a reason, but they both understand. Home is very far away, and yet it is near. She is his new refuge, and he's happy living things out from the viewpoint she creates when she spreads her arms and allows him to look through, eyes like windows into time and fate.

"I know," He kisses the top of her head so no one can see, but honestly, he wouldn't care either way. He is too fucking exhausted to put up a fight, but too fucking exhausted to carefully let it pass into oblivion. He wants everyone to know now, now while he's crazy and chaotic and drawn to her scent like a moth to the flame. "I wish we could just give ourselves up."

"What?" She lifts her chin to face him, and he detects the presence of her eyes upon him as he always has, but he doesn't need to look back down. "Give ourselves up for what?"

"I don't know." Exhaustion is talking, and what is it saying? Who is he now, now that the wind has blown him aside and the waters are rising too fast to leave the bay in which he tentatively floats? "I just feel like this job is killing me…us."

"It's not the job- it's just the case. We couldn't stop working here." She squeezes his arm, a small reminder with larger reactions. "You know how many times you've said this place is your first home. We can't leave."

"I want bigger things, though. I want you."

"I'm here."

The answer is simple, but it's enough to kill him. Suddenly, he sees that their dreams have gone in that pivotal different direction. She wants to stay, maybe because she thinks he's going to change his mind and stay too. But something about his life can only tell him one thing, and that is that everything he's ever come to love has been broken on the job. Torn by the job. Worn threadbare until it can no longer be salvaged. He sees her and his future begins to unravel, knowing that the more they sit at that desk the more they damn themselves.

Cragen is here again, but in his exhaustion he's just a part of the backdrop, pair of eyes staring out from wooden walls and breaking apart and noticing the dark things approaching from behind.

Cragen blinks slowly, another moment lost to oblivion when he faces them. "Go home." Command in a can, Elliot has to reach out and grab it with tired fingers before it ever sinks in. Olivia has gotten to her feet, and he has to let go of her for that split second where she obeys and he questions. As always, she's right, and she's right first.

The car ride home is silent, if only in his mind. Maybe they are talking, conversing about weather and days gone by and moments he can't recapture in his jar of light. But in the back of the mind that steers the wheel and faces the road, there is nothing but self-absolution stirring to life and then to death.

And looking out the window, three cars follow, three cars that stand between them and the rest of the dangerous world. The policemen nods in the mirror and he doesn't nod back, because Elliot is tired of acknowledging.

Today he had to run away, and he hates it.

…

"And how did you get involved?"

Munch rubbed his temples as the man responded, prison breakout and child rapist and all at once perpetrator to the world of the precinct. If he cooperated, he wouldn't have to go back to prison. But then there would be one more pervert on the street. And if he didn't cooperate, two dead cops would need replacements.

"We started getting contacts in the cells. Names and numbers were passed around and you figured somebody got a hold of it eventually, but mostly you gave your i.d. to the contact that came around every few weeks. He got you hooked up with someone, and you'd hear back in a week. I got pulled three weeks ago."

"Can you give me names?"

"Will it help my sentence?"

"Everything you say is another month out of jail."

"Yeah, I'll write them down." He wasn't talking before, just a few slurred curse words, but the sentences being lifted were able to life the clamp on his tongue too. "Hey, what about that asshole who hit me? He work here?"

"Nope." Munch eyes the man carefully, seeing what sort of intentions he has. But for now they only seem like blunt vengeance for a bad migraine. "And even if he did, I couldn't tell you. Who told you to find the woman and kids?"

"I don't know what his name is. We didn't get anything out of the higher-ups."

"How did he contact you?"

"When they got me out, they took us to a warehouse and he talked to us there. Made offers, sealed deals. Specific groups got specific tasks. It was big."

They were lucky such a weak conscience had been chosen for this job. His tongue was looser than a drunk's right now, all of the promises the law offered him sounding better and better. He must have had one hellish time in prison, Munch thought, to want out so bad. Probably one too many broom handles up the ass.

"Could you id. any of the people you were with?"

"Yeah, probably."

"How about the man who spoke with you about what you had to do?"

"Definitely. He was a walking dick. Some rich bastard."

"Do you know the address for where you were?"

"It'd have to be in Jersey- we only were out for an hour when we got there. I didn't see much, but if I saw pictures I'd know which one it was."

"You're being very helpful, Murray. Thanks for that. It's helping your sentence with every sentence you say."

"I'm not an idiot." The man responded simply, his eyes falling to his arms, resting menacingly across his chest.

Munch nodded, leaving the room to join his partner on the other side of the window.

Fin grinned. "That's the nicest good cop act you've ever done."

"I wish we could just skip the routine and beat the shit out of him, but alas, law and order in this country." Munch winced for a moment, rubbing his shoulder and giving the window a long look. "Fuck, this hurts."

"I told you to take another day. You just got out of the hospital- hell, can you walk right?" Fin gave him a cautious but upbeat glance as they sat down at their desks, handing him a coffee. "It's not like I couldn't have asked a few questions."

"Yeah, but could you pull off the friendly policeman face as well as me? No, I think not." He set the coffee down without touching it, tired of the familiarities in his routine. "And I'm not sitting around with this sort of thing on the line. This is the worst case we've had- I'd let Liv and Elliot down if I pulled out now."

"Hey, nobody's going to blame you if you take a breather every once and a while. You're a victim too, you know."

"_Was_. This wound's healing fine, and I can work." He shook his head at the papers now scattered on his desk. "Shit, we're on double duty papers, aren't we?"

"Better get to work, then." Fin gave his partner one last look of brotherly concern. "Man, if you screw yourself up anymore, I'm going to have to get a new partner."

"One of the opposite sex, if you're lucky."

"Well, only Stabler has had the privilege of doing his fellow employee on a regular basis, so there's not much chance of that." He leaned across the desk, giving Munch his usual threatening eye. "But hey, I mean it. Keep yourself in one piece or I'll beat the living shit out of you, you hear me?"

"Well, _you're_ not frightening when you're being protective, are you?" Munch said, rolling his eyes. "And yes. I'll watch myself from now on."

"Good." Fin returned his gaze to the massive stack of papers beneath him, frowning. "If they're having sex right now, I'm going to kill them."

…

"Liv…" The whisper brings her out of a silent dream, and she lets out a short groan, ignoring the call. She had been somewhere in the ocean, just standing there with the waves lapping silently around her feet. Someone was waving from the shore, but she didn't want to go back on land. She wanted to dive back in and swim until she could swim no more. She wanted to be free for just a moment, at least enough to taste it like a drug and feel that high for a few seconds more.

"Liv…" The whisper calls her back, and she turns lifting one eyelid to stare angrily at him where he lays beside her, blanket up to the collar of the tank he's sleeping in. "Sorry," He says, as if it could help. "Were you asleep?"

"Up until a second ago." She grunts again when she sees the time. "How are you awake right now?"

"I've been thinking."

"You were exhausted." The pillow is calling her back and she wants so desperately to obey, take in its essence with every fiber of her being until she and the pillow are one, one giant mocha-eyed piece of downy goodness.

"But I've been thinking." It's insistent, and she opens the other eye just to see if it's all correct, if he really is laying here with his eyes the size of saucers when he faces her in the moonlight.

"Can you tell me about it in a few hours?"

"Please, Liv. I've been thinking about it all night, and I can't get it out of my head."

"It's technically morning anyway. Just hold it there for a few more hours and then you can discuss it over breakfast-"

"Liv." He reaches out and touches her cheek, warm fingers bringing back the hot blood she hasn't savored in a few days. "It's about us."

"What about us?" She whispers back, her attention all his.

"About what's going to happen to us. I want to make a decision, one that could change both of our lives."

"No big decisions until I'm fully awake, please."

"It has to be mutual, or else we can't go through with it at all."

"Elliot…" She pleads with him with her eyes, but he is pleading right back, and it doesn't work.

"I love you, but I can't keep this up. Not in this way we have had to go about it. I want to leave the force with you, and I want to start over again."

"What?"

It catches her right in the middle of her throat, along with all the other surprises life has shoved in her general direction. But she fights it because she doesn't want to hear it.

"The job is killing us, and it's breaking us both apart. I don't want to endanger our relationship like this."

"We're not." She sits up, emotions suddenly pulling her back to reality like quickening steps. "I'm not. I've already told you that I want to stay, and I won't change my mind, you know that. What makes you think that our job is the problem?"

"Why else would I feel this way? I'm doing this so we can be together. I'm doing this so we can restart somewhere else."

"I don't want a new life. I love my life." She gives him a desperate smile. "You're in my life."

"But how can it stay that way?"

She falls back onto the pillow, a groan out before she can stop it. "Jesus Elliot, I can't talk to you when you're in one of your dark-humored Irish moods."

"I'm not being pessimistic. I'm being realistic. How many times in the past month has our life been threatened?"

"That's because of a _case_, Elliot. Not because of the job." She sighs, stares at the ceiling. She watches the red light from the alarm clock flickering across the bedspread. "There's always going to be the few difficult ones…but it's not like we can't deal with it. And who would you rather be, the helpless victim, completely in the dark as to what's going on? At least this way we can deal with it with all the information, and have as much backup as we need _if_ we ever need it."

"But they almost killed us." His voice is quieter, but its impact is more severe than ever. "They just keep coming and…they…they murdered our _child_."

"We don't know that." She whispers, not letting the tears form in the corners of her eyes. "And I should have known."

"It wasn't your fault. It was _their_ fault-"

"No." She reaches out and stops the hand that's come to stroke her cheek. No, no, no. "Don't you work the baby into this like that. You're not going to just let all of that anger blow everything out of proportion and you sure as hell are _not_ going to use our child as your excuse."

"That's not what I'm doing-"

"Is it?" She stands up, her own emotions beginning to overflow, out of the corners of an overtired pair of eyes and out of her mouth, now free-flowing as the river she's been struggling in for years. "I know your life hasn't been easy for the past year, and I know you're looking for something to blame for everything you've been through, but you are _not_ going to bring me or my child into that."

"Olivia!" He grabs her wrist, but she pulls away. So this is what she couldn't see before? "Olivia, I'm not blaming anyone, especially not-"

"You're blaming your fears." Her keys are on the table, and she reaches for them. She knows he can see her now, and he throws himself toward her, desperation in his eyes. "I can't live with you if you're running away. I can't start over again if it's only a start away from everything you're afraid of. We can't live our lives in fear, Elliot."

"I'm…I just…" He falters, falls back toward the bed. She's too distant now, too far away to reach again.

"You want me to run." She shakes her head, avoiding his eye. "I can't do that."

"I want you to be safe."

"But I want to live."

Maybe it was because he mentioned the baby. Maybe it was because she knew where he was going, always knew where he was going. She knew they'd run, and she knew he'd try to separate ties with everything.

But she couldn't. Not even for his sake.

She reaches for the door, and then she's gone. And this time, she knows she can't come back.

…


	34. Up

**everyone wondering about all of my plotline innuendo: join Live Journal and become a member of eoshippers community. trust me.**

**so I assume it's fairly obvious to you that I'm back in action. THIS CALLS FOR A JAPANESE DRINKING GAME. OOKKKII OPAAAAIII!!!! oh yes, big time back in action. anyhow, I am also planning on ending this story (gasp! the very thought of ending this story!) in about three chapters + epilogue, so I must warn you: now is the time of plotline-wrapping-up-ness. not to worry or anything about things seeming as they do now (oh bahjessus, have I EVER had anything be as it seems? now, REALLY…) or about the certain inalienable rights of couples being together suddenly being not-couples-being-together . really, cruelty is only a guise, not my true form. to think of me, depriving you all of more love and sex and drama and sex and angst and did I mention sex? but don't make me pull out the warning sign again (ha, as if I had the heart) and wiggle those reviews out of you.**

**thinking of a sequel. not really SERIOUSLY thinking of a sequel, since how the hell can I pull this ending out of my (ass) hat and make it into a cohesive storyline? screw that, I'll just write lots of OE porn! yes! my reviews will go over the roof! just kidding. but not about the porn part. to be perfectly honest with you, I don't have much time to dedicate to extra thinking since liekwhoa chemistry has really driven me to my utmost human defenses. seriously, I just sit in chemistry and think: 'Couldn't I read all of this on a Gatorade bottle?'!! really now, of all the worthless subjects for an anthropology major…**

**10 more minutes until The Office! I just have to wait for my sister to stop watching Survivor and then I can watch the reason why my Thursdays are love. since Tuesdays are just ripping my heart out and stabbing it with a rusty stake, honestly…**

**and oh oh oh!**

**The I Hate Dani Club is officially in session. club dues (a story in which Dani is thoroughly trashed, smashed, or denied, and OEness reigns supreme in an impressive spectacle of sweat-soaked porn) must be in by the end of November! I am not joking. Label it as 'I Hate Dani Club Dues' somewhere in your story summary, and you become a member! I'm opening the community in a bit. and you all get club jackets and chocolate and cookies. cookies depicting an OE love scene! and some…um…favors from…uh…the Vice-President. PM me if you want to be an officer. **

**I wasn't joking. I'm dead serious.**

**alrightee, read on my darlings. because you're all my marshmallow butter ducklings! and because I am definitely not doing my chem homework but instead am reading the latest issue of SPIN and writing this. holy shit, Billy Corgan's an ass and Cragen's pissed! I love tonight! **

…

Cliché. That's what she would call all this: skipping record of Etta James, half-filled glass of vodka, 20 seconds left in a minute that seemed to hang lazily from the tip of her tongue. She's started to see things with a future eye- everything is illuminated in that sad frame of light that says they've been here before, everyone has been there before. It's a blasted recap of a past and yet it's a past she has never lived.

Or maybe she's too drunk to notice.

People seem to think she's just as dangerous as her mother, but she's not a raging storm when she's drunk. She doesn't look for sources of pain, thrash against them until her blood tells her she's real for a moment, and then she flickers back into disillusion and cries when insults fly through her. She's not an alcoholic, she's not insane, she's not willing to hate people and blame them for things that have happened, not even the things she wants to take back.

When she's drunk, she notices all of the beautiful things in life and smiles at them and the hazy glow they cast across her spotless features. Beautiful drink, beautiful world, beautiful melting horizon to hold her and never let go.

She makes a beautiful breakdown.

She is center stage today, center stage in her grief and wholesome solo player in that final act. That long standing duo against all odds, reciting lines only rehearsed once before…they've disappeared. She's left in their place, hollow and grave-faced corpse preparing for the funeral of a love story.

"I'm sorry," She whispers, but she just can't remember who she's sorry for. Why she's sorry.

The world is sorry, but it's never sorry for anyone in particular. She feels like the world, floating quietly in space while the cosmos blast carelessly about, feeling sorry for the general consensus. Everyone else can be happy- she must feel sorry for the grief that has to come with life's many journeys.

She stumbles silently into the light, filtering through the glossy windows of the door before she pushes it open, brilliant and stinging air filling her face with painless spring. She's numb to her own intentions, sinking slowly into the pit whose presence she cannot explain, even as the pungent earth rubs against her open palms and reminds her she can start again without consequence.

"Olivia?" The redhead steps out of an Audi, pulling down oversized sunglasses that don't quite fit the long and tapered frame of her face. "Olivia, are you alright?"

But she can't see her. She sees only the bright blue horizon that glimmers violet in her line of view. That and lonely tears that fall into a man's open hands, rippling until they become the lines of his palm.

She catches her foot on the edge of the step, tumbles slowly forward with a brilliant dance of divulged discord. Quick hands have taken hers and pulled her onto her feet, and she smiles in admiration.

"Very…quick." She manages, grinning widely.

"You smell like a frat house punchbowl." Casey frowns, pulling her friend back into the seat beside her. "Coffee. You definitely need coffee."

"Don't need…nothing at all…" The car. It moves. A surprise!

"Well, your grammar certainly sucks." Casey gives her a quick smile. "Does your inebriation have an occasion?"

"Stabler…_jesusfuckchrist_."

"Oh god, don't tell me you two spilt again-"

"I'm sorry," And now she's crying. Crying crying crying. "I'm so sorry…"

"Don't apologize to me, honey. I wasn't the one you were sleeping with."

"I'm so sorry…" And now the tears were heavier, greater in quantity. The car was pulling over, warm arms were wrapping around her. Disillusion was pulling away, strong and sad reality sinking in.

"Shh, stop it." Casey's voice of reason, strong and certain in her ear. "You don't have to be sorry. You just have to be sober." She laughed slowly, everything suddenly delayed in Olivia's mind. "You've never been one for alcohol, have you?"

"I didn't…I should have…"

"Don't worry, you'll start making sense to yourself once you're not peeing Bloody Mary's. Did I tell you? I came over because we got the guy who ordered the hitmen. Ripley Montgomery. Katrina Bates' boyfriend. Coincidental, huh? Honestly I have no idea why I'm telling you this since in a few hours you won't even remember me sitting here, but I feel as though taking an extra half hour lunch break to check in on you is certainly worth state funding."

"Wha--?"

"Never mind, dear. Just keep thinking hangover."

…

"Elliot?" There is a short and spastic knocking of knuckles beside his ear, and he bolts upright. But where is the pink elephant? And the woozle with the shotgun that was trying to impregnate him with Denise Richards' alien offspring? "Elliot, why do you smell like a German beer festival?"

Munch. Motherbuggershithouse. Not the person to talk to when you're dead close to drunk. Or maybe you are drunk. Was he drunk? Is he drunk?

Is Munch wearing a tartan thong?

Yes, he is drunk.

"Get…_hellaway_…"

Munch turned to Cragen's door, grinning maliciously. "CAP-_TAIN_! ELLIOT'S PLASTERED AT WORK!"

"Kill…you…"

Unicorn porn.

Not unicorn porn.

She was gone, she is gone, she will be gone. She can be here, but she will never be _really_ here again. And all the while, he's crying and drinking and imagining the tragedy played out in poetry, all at once velveteen and cursed.

"Mets lose?" Munch bends over, breathing expectantly in his ear. "Car broke down? World hunger continuing? Cher's last farewell tour? PMS? Take your pick here, buddy. Cragen will probably want to know why you're drunk in the office."

"Just get me –_umph_- out of here."

Fresh air. Still and chaos and noises beyond all noises to clear his head with their silent screams.

"Fin!" Munch is calling over his shoulder, still bandaged and slung with the care of the hospital. "Come play hooky with us!"

"Is Elliot drunk?"

"Yeah, we can dress him up in women's clothes."

"Bitchsonshitshityoubothandurgh_umph_…"

Fin gives a nod of approval. "Yep, he's out of it."

"His time of the month, apparently."

"Always is." They pull on jackets, grabbing him on either side and hoisting him to his feet. "But that's nothing a chili dog and a barefoot jog in Central Park can't help with."

"Can we drop him in the river?"

"No, I want to dress him up like a bum and make him sit outside with the homeless people."

"No, let's dress him up like a man-whore and shove him into a group of Japanese tourists in Times Square."

"Can we hang him from the Statue of Liberty?"

"By his feet?"

"I was thinking his-"

Elliot groans and sends a lazy fist in Fin's direction. "You both gotta…_sliurtapop_…"

"Ha, I love this!" Fin grins. "Definitely getting him a pleather skirt."

"And edible underwear!"

…

She wakes up aware again, suddenly attuned to the familiar surroundings of the grey couch, the window on the busy world, the smell of coffee stinging her nostrils. Headache like a bitch, yes, but she's aware now. Disillusion is gone. Anger is gone. Sadness is gone.

Well, not completely gone.

A quickly scribbled note is on the coffee table, and when she stands up to shuffle quietly across the floor, she picks it up and gives it a glance.

_Liv, Gave you lots of coffee and tea and milk and a cookie. Pretty sure when you read this you'll be sober but in pain. Good luck with that. Back at the office now, so call me if you need anything. Lots of progress with Bates case- I told you about it, but you have no idea what I said._

_-Casey_

She yawns, and regrets are all around her, the air stifling only from the quick breath that stinks of despair. She remembers sharp words cutting across the damp air of last night, the eyes that stared but did not see.

She's sorry.

But she can't take it back.

Not now.

The drive to the precinct seems longer than ever, the familiar hum of the afternoon city and the occasional person on the boulevard filling her spirit with an ultimate sort of melancholy, as though this is her final emotion, the one she must take to the grave. And why shouldn't she? Her life has been a sad story in which none of the characters found satisfaction, in which second chances were not allowed. She'd learned from her mother a long time ago that you can't take back your decisions. You just have to work with what you have.

When she's parked the car, she treads slowly to the elevator and waits in sober silence, still blinking and breathing and trying to find that bit of untouched life in her. But it's gone, and she's tainted from head to toe, one giant mistake.

The door beeps, opens. She holds her breath.

And there he is.

"Liv…" He freezes, and so does she. He looks older somehow.

"I just came to…I heard…"

"Yeah, there's progress on the case." He blinks, and breathes. She blinks, and breathes. They still function as one, bound by blood, memories, little hands and feet. "I just talked to Captain."

"Oh."

"So you…you're going to go see-"

"Yeah…"

"You know I…I just wanted to…"

"About what happened last night…" She breathes again, watches his chest inhaling with her own, rising slowly and calmly, but the tension still remaining in his eyes. "I don't want to run, but I want to…if we could just…if you…" She blinks. "_Stay_."

There is a distinct and pregnant silence. The door begins to beep, closing before him where he stands motionless. And then a hand reaches beyond the sheets of metal running slowly to collision.

And they collide.

Maybe she is still drunk. Because words are melting away with lips and fingers and the taste of skin. He's reaching for her belt, her pants, and everything is being shed like petals in the spring. Blossoms and blooming and there she is.

Everything is violent and fast and there is nothing graceful about it, but she likes the clumsy motion of their hips against one another, the desperation in their limbs when he pulls her up onto him and they press against the wall. He pulls her in, steadies her as she groans, biting his ear when he comes. She gropes impatiently over his shoulder and hits a random button.

Up they go.

…

Cragen smiles with satisfaction when the weight of the file is in his hands, looking expectantly at the partners before him. "Well boys, bring the man in and we can finish this nuthouse case."

Fin nods. "I can't wait until this shit is over."

Munch rolls his eyes. "You're not the one with the shoulder problem."

"Hey now! I was the one who pushed you out of the way, so if you think--"

"It's not like you ever get hurt. I'm always the one getting shot in the--"

"--ass always needs protecting and it's not like anyone ever says--"

"--my wives weren't this needy obviously, but you probably got a lot of--"

"--sex crimes isn't exactly the best job in the world, and you'd be better off as a--"

"--man-whore getting raped right and left, and no one gives me credit for that case even if I saved them from--"

"--Cragen's never in a good mood because you're always trying to get--"

"--tapped into the secret of it, and nobody said it was my idea even though I'm always the first one to--"

"--touch myself for days because of this damn shoulder, so I can't wash my back or get a--"

"--blow me out the window every time with your temper--"

"BOTH OF YOU! **SHUT THE HELL UP**!" Cragen screams, and they both turn, frowning slightly. The captain is rubbing his temples in exasperation, shaking his ringing head. "You two are worse than Benson and Stabler sometimes."

"Yeah, but we fight like brothers dating the same girl, not an old married couple with different ideas for sex positions."

Cragen stares blankly at Munch.

Munch smiles innocently. "Never mind…"

"Can you just go and arrest Montgomery, _please_?"

"Yes sir!" Munch smiles excitedly and bounds out the door after his partner, nearly colliding with the redhead who has just arrived at the precinct. "Casey! Your hair's red again."

She smiles sheepishly. "You noticed, John. How nice."

Fin is suddenly grinning over Munch's shoulder, his eyebrow raised. "Actually, Munch was just talking earlier about whether or not your hair is a natural red."

"Oh, really?" Casey blinks, raising an eyebrow. "And why would you--"

Fin smiles again, his voice rising in volume. "And Munch said the only way to tell was if you took off your pants and showed him your--"

"NEVER MIND!" Munch grabs his partner by the shoulder and drags him quickly out, his face the shade of fried tomatoes. He sprints to the elevator, jumping in anticipation. "PRESS THE BUTTON PRESS THE BUTTON!"

"**Hey**!" Casey storms after them, catching up at the elevator. "In case you haven't noticed, I am no longer single and if you ever try that again, I am going to tell--**OH…MY…FUCK**."

Because at that moment, the doors to the elevator had opened, and two certain partners are standing before them. Elliot is rushing to straighten his shirt, which Olivia refastens her belt, attempting with one hand to redo her hair and rub off the sucking marks across her left side.

"Urm, hi." She says, hurrying out the elevator and down the hall, Elliot following not far behind.

"Yeah, see you guys." He mutters, and practically sprints in her direction.

There is a silence like no other silence that has ever existed in the history of silences.

Casey finally closes her mouth and opens her eyes. "I…I thought they broke up."

Munch blinks. "I thought he was drunk."

Fin grins. "More the reason!"

…

**Author's Note: WAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAH ELEVATOR SEX!**


	35. Found

**well, I want to kill Elliot. and I want to kill Elliot for kissing Dani. and generally I jus want to kill Dick Wolf.**

**also, I have no prom date, and everyone else seems to be using this time to ask people they will have broken up with or given unsuccessful blow jobs to by the time of the actual prom night, so I am considered highly out of fashion right now. which makes me even happier, since being out of fashion is something I do best. my ex boyfriend has offered, but yeah, he pretty much tried to rape me. so NO THANKS, BUT ANYWAY…**

**here's some drama. glad everyone loved the elevator sex. because who wouldn't, honestly? and I have attracted new readers, which makes me happy and horny and hoppity inside, like the Easter Bunny eating pumpkin pie. pumpkin pie is the number one most erotic food. which is why I am probably going to have to write some OE thanksgiving porn this year. **

**toodles, lovies.**

…

"You have to be joking. You _imbeciles_ have to be joking."

Ripley Montgomery was, in the eyes of John Munch- now quite experienced in the art of identifying bastards, the biggest son of a bitch to ever walk the earth. Excepting maybe Cragen on his days without coffee and Twizzlers. But still, Ripley Montgomery was up there. Way up there.

"Actually Mr. Montgomery, we're being perfectly serious. And so are the very serious two men who say they were going through with your very serious orders to very seriously kill Detective Benson." He runs his tongue across his teeth, frowning. This guy is probably the reason his shoulder feels like a shitload of shrapnel. "Is that serious enough for you?"

"Both of those men are convicted pedophiles and are doing 25 to life on homicide and rape charges. Not what I'd call star witnesses, Detective."

"I just love that you keep knowing things before I tell you about them, Mr. Montgomery. Watching you shoot yourself in the kneecap time and time again is starting to become entertaining."

Ripley sneers, running a distressed hand through his hair as he stares at the glass of water shaking slightly on the table. He's a good-looking man, tall and athletically-built, but he'd be easy prey for the cellmates that love to give broom-handle colonoscopies. It gives Munch a sick sort of satisfaction knowing it's only a matter of time before this man suffers through living anal hell.

"Where's my lawyer?"

"On his way."

"Good. Then we can clear this up, and you bastards can waste your time trying to find some other ass-licker to convict me."

"For your kind of breeding, Mr. Montgomery, I'd expect a lot more courtesy on your part. Didn't finishing school teach you anything about your manners?"

Before Ripley can respond, most likely with a sneer and a jumble of well-dictated cuss words, the door flies open and an exasperated Katrina Bates flies in, rushing immediately to Ripley's side.

"This is _ridiculous _and I want this called off_ immediately."_ She screams, turning to Munch with fire in her eyes. "Whatever it is, Ripley didn't do it. He has countless alibis and a spotless reputation, and anything you accuse him of has to be ludicrous." She turns to Ripley, giving him a long kiss on the mouth. "I brought the family lawyer."

"Thank you, darling." Ripley smiles with the inherited charm he's used on so many other women with so many other commitments. Munch makes a face, rolling his eyes.

"So you're together. How coincidental and utterly stomach-turning."

"Don't say another word, Ripley." Katrina gives him a stern frown, her eyes suddenly flashing on Munch. "I don't know why you'd even _dream_ of accusing _him_, but I assure you this will all be clarified in a few moments. Joseph." She signals for the lawyer to sit down. "Tell him."

"Actually, tell _me_." Casey enters, looking just as dissatisfied as Munch. "Or maybe you'd rather not say anything at all until we've made our offer, since nothing is looking particularly good for you right now, Mr. Montgomery."

"My client isn't interested in a deal, Miss Novak. Just tell us the bail."

"You're kidding." Casey shrugs, frowning. "We can't even talk about bail right now, not with the charges we have on your client, Mr. Bauschwert."

"We'll pay it." Ripley says coolly, even when his lawyer signals to silence him. "I don't fucking care how much it costs. Just tell me what I owe and let's get the hell out of here."

"This isn't a fine, Mr. Montgomery. You are sitting with the weight of five charges on your head, not to mention an alibi that won't play well with the judge assigned to your case."

"But he was with _me_!" Katrina protests, "And I have three maids that can confirm that as well. They don't speak English, but if you have to get a Romanian translator-"

"I rest my case." Casey rolls her eyes.

"Tread easy, Miss Novak." Ripley raises his eyebrows, but his eyes are examining her coolly. "Katrina's father can confirm it as well."

"I wouldn't be so confident, Mr. Montgomery. At this point, you have both homicide and four cases of rape on your hands."

"_Rape_?" Ripley leans forward, eyes widening. "Now where the hell are you getting that from?"

"We connected the dots, and as long as you keep your mouth shut, you're saddling the upstate rapes as well."

"That _wasn't_ me." Ripley's eyes are wide and terrifying, and when he turns to Katrina, hot anger boils within his pupils. "You _bitch_. You never settled that?"

"What are you talking about?" She blinks blankly, swallowing quickly. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Ripley turns back to Casey, head trembling on the sculptured pulpit of his neck. "That was Jonathan. Jonathan Bates."

"_No!"_ Katrina reaches across and yanks dangerously on his collar, screaming as she tugs him towards her. "_What are you saying? How can you-"_

"That fucking pervert wasn't _my_ brother, and I'll be _damned_ if I go to prison for that fucker." He leans forward again, shoving away Katrina's hands as she sobs and clings to him, her eyes wide and horrified.

"_Stop it Ripley, please!" _But he shoves her away, and she kneels on the floor, sobbing hysterically as he continues.

"Jonathan owns half of the resort, but it won't say that in any of the paperwork because the Bates all cleared it away after the rapes. Everybody was paid to keep their mouths shut, and Jonathan was locked up in his penthouse in New York for a while. He was fucking _crazy_. He was obsessed with the women he saw there. He watched them for days, and then he'd rape them. He set everything up and nobody stopped him because he was a _Bates_. You couldn't touch him. I talked to him once, and all he could talk about was how much he loved this one girl, and how he was going to buy her. Feed her jello. Get sons and everything. Fucking _insane_. _He's_ the one that raped them, not me."

Casey blinks. "Well, that certainly clears up a few things."

"Yeah, and one day he got out. He'd hired an old friend to follow the girl and he went out find her. And guess who it was? _Your_ detective. And then he got killed, to shut him up."

At this, Katrina lets out a long moan and shakes pathetically.

"Oh, _shut up_, you stupid bitch. You're just as guilty as he is. Getting vengeance, my ass. And I went along with it, thinking I'd get something from Old Man Bates, and what did I get? _Nothing_. That bastard gave me nothing, and he can go on living like that. And I'm going to jail."

"And the Bates just covered everything up?"

"_No! Don't tell them! Ripley, please!" _Katrina is begging pathetically, but it's no use now. Ripley has a yellow flame in his eyes, and everything horrible about him is spinning out with every confession they need to hear to tie this case up. It's a disgusting sight to watch, and yet it's wonderful to behold.

"Yeah, they covered up everything. Paid everybody off, got rid of the ones who didn't keep quiet. But you'll never hear about them. They're experts at saving their own hides- they ruin everybody else's life, and then they skulk quietly off to go ruin someone else's existence. They're just great at it."

"And what was your role exactly?"

"Katrina said we had to cover Jonathan's tracks one last time. We had to make sure the criminal records were cleared. And the ones who opposed had to be finished off. We'd make it look like a freak accident, an old case file gone to vengeance. I spent half of my fortune on it." He curses, rubbing his temples in hostile anger. "I fucking _wasted_ my inheritance on that bastard." He looks up at Casey, suddenly searching for sympathy. "Am I still going to jail?"

"Oh my yes." Casey nods eagerly. "Your bail might be lower, but it's still astronomical."

"I can handle astronomical." Ripley smiles smugly, ignoring the quiet weeping beneath his right shoulder. "I can handle anything, you know."

…

"Large black, no frills, and large decaf with cream and sugar." She orders and then turns to him, grinning mischievously. "You take your coffee like a wimp."

"And you take yours like a crack addict." He smiles back, glad to see her looking at him like that again, missing it so much for those hours in which her face was empty as his heart. "But I suppose at one point you were a coffee-wuss like me, before you built up a tolerance." He stays her hand when she reaches for her wallet. Her frown shoots daggers into him, immediately reliving those moments when she first walked out and left it silent, but her small smile returns and she lights him up once more. "Think of it as a treat, to celebrate a victory. The end of the Bates case."

"We don't know who killed Jonathan."

"Screw Jonathan. Drink coffee." He takes a long swig and then makes a face. "This tastes like paint remover."

"That's mine." She pulls it from his grasp, switching cups.

"Are you sure that's not going to dissolve the lining of your stomach?"

"Better than beer and faster than a fag, thank you very much."

"Ah, a coffee slogan. How adorable."

She grins, putting on her infamous bambi eyes. He melts. "You _know_ you think my coffee slogan is cute."

He shrugs. "Maybe a little." His pager is buzzing, and it momentarily takes his eyes off of her, brilliant as she is when she stands in the mid afternoon sun and twists her head to stare at the sky, almost as bright and beautiful as she is. "Uh…we've got to get back to the precinct."

"Already? And just when my coffee break was starting to get entertaining…"

"Looks like we'll have to postpone that celebration. Katrina's ready to talk and there's a family reunion in Cragen's office."

She lets out a long sigh, shoulders falling sadly. "Sounds like a party."

"And we don't want to miss it."

He could already see Cragen's distraught expression of gloomy indifference as they walked in.

…


	36. Lead

**Well, here's the new chapter. Don't break your hearts on it. OLIVIA'S BACK! And kidney donation love.**

**Happy reading my happy bunny kitty ponies!**

…

"So if Jonathan raped the women and the rest of your family tried to kill everyone else, who killed Jonathan?"

"I don't know." Katrina sniffed, looking up and finally meeting Olivia's eyes. She had to feel some pity for her- there was something about Katrina right now that reminded Olivia of all the young girls she'd pulled off of the street for prostitution, a look of desperation and shame, as though at this moment all of the reasons they'd used before were suddenly becoming horribly illogical. "Look, I know what he did was horrible. But he couldn't help it. Jonathan would never know anything he did was wrong. So there was no reason to kill him. In his mind, he was innocent."

"I find it very hard to believe that someone can brutally rape and kill three women and see nothing wrong with it, no matter how insane they are." She'd seen a lot of screwed up perps, but they all knew they were causing pain. What made them messed up was that they liked it. "He wasn't hallucinating, so he was very aware of his actions."

"Talk to his psychiatrist. Doctor Graine told us over and over again that he had this weird morality complex. We just didn't think it would lead to _this_."

Olivia sighed, taking a seat across from Katrina. She didn't know why this was exhausting her so much- on any other day she'd be pumped right now, so close to finally closing a case she'd been digging at for weeks. But right now it was almost painful to sit here and go through this, feeling everything about the job horribly dreary when she looked into Katrina's eyes and saw the gruesome reality she'd come to inhabit. At one time, Olivia had honestly hated Katrina and her family, denouncing her for her money and her self-importance. Yet she was just another lonely victim now, led into a corner where she had to give everything up, until she was just as thin and fragile as every other woman in her situation.

"Katrina, why are you telling us all of this now? This would have helped us clear your brother ages ago. Anything involving mental health could have stopped him from a serious sentence. He might even be alive-"

"Well, I don't have a _choice_, do I?" Katrina cut in, frowning. "We could have taken care of this on our own, without any police involvement. But Ripley had to…he had to just say _everything_ back there." A small fire simmered in her eyes. "That bastard."

"You should be glad Ripley's talking. The rape charges are off and you're not looking at any scheming with a sexual assault. Now it's just…murder." She coughed hesitantly, realizing it wasn't much better.

Katrina sighed, rolling her eyes. "I'm screwed either way, right? Story of my life, I guess." She stared at her palms, now facing the ceiling when she flattened them on the table. "You know why my father abandoned me before? He found out I'd gotten an abortion. That was all. He was furious. Anytime I do anything out of line with his demands, he flips. Well, tell me dropping out of college to raise my ex-boyfriend's kid was going to be better than just having the procedure and forgetting it happened. He was keeping close tabs on me though, and he found out, and called me the night before it was going to happen. He didn't say I was supposed to keep it and raise it, but he told me specifically not to have the abortion tomorrow. I hung up and got it done the next day. He didn't give me permission, so I was over. I received a formal letter describing my loss of inheritance and disownment from the family three days later." Katrina curled her fingers into fists, folding them quietly in her lap. "I've been spending the rest of my life trying to get back in his favor, and now I'm going to jail. It's over…_again_."

In a way, Olivia was getting very sick of hearing the same woe-is-me storyline from Katrina, but her words had rung a chord in Olivia's mind. If the Bates patriarch kept that kind of close watch over his disfavored daughter, what kind of security did he have on his insane son? If he gave Jonathan even a fraction of the attention he gave to Katrina's actions, then he would have an exact idea of what his son was up to…and who finally killed him.

"Will you excuse me?" She stood up, quickly going for the door where she knew Cragen was watching.

"Problem?" He raised an eyebrow, giving her a disillusioned frown as she closed the door behind her.

"Did you hear that?" She pointed to the window where Katrina now sat, looking forlorn. "What she just said?"

"Most of it. I just came from where Elliot's interviewing the rest of the clan."

"But the part about how closely her father was watching her? She was away at college, trying extremely hard to hide the fact she was terminating her pregnancy, and he still knew exactly what was going on and when she was going to do it the night before it even happened. That meant he was having her followed and possibly bugged. If he did that for her, what do you think he did for Jonathan?"

Cragen nodded. "Keeping tabs on your insane rapist son seems a lot more important to a guy with a reputation at stake than keeping an eye on the rebellious daughter."

"Exactly. So if there's anyone we need to talk to about closing this case, it's him."

"Well, I'd suggest asking him right now, since he's in with Elliot right now."

"What?" She blinked, frowning. "When did he show up?"

"About the same time everyone else remotely related to Jonathan came through the door. Along with a generous posse of lawyers that Casey is having a dandy time dealing with right now. Apparently she went to school with two of them, had an unsuccessful relationship with another one, and can't find a single one that wants to cooperate on the case."

Olivia shrugs, stepping away. "Well, I guess that means I'll be addressing him with a few matters of law of my own."

…

Elliot seriously needs to relax. Or he is going to shove this man's head through a wall.

And it wouldn't be the first time a bastard like this had gotten under his skin and procured similar results.

"One more time, Mr. Bates. Do you know who killed your son, or have any idea who could possibly be capable of this act?"

"Honor above all. That is what we must depend on."

Elliot groans, rubbing his temples in order to prevent his hands from forming fists and making their furious way across the table to meet with flesh.

"You know, Mr. Bates, you are making your case worse by not answering the questions. You're starting to look guiltier and guiltier with every senseless expression you use."

"That is because I am aware of the law, Detective Stabler, and I am also aware that I don't need to be here. You never told me why I was being brought in for questioning, and therefore we cannot start the interview until I am informed. I arrived here to return my daughter and her fiancée to their homes, but was escorted here without explanation."

Shit. A smart bastard. These were the worst.

"Alright, you want to know? We have evidence that you kept close surveillance on your children, and if so, thought you would have information that could help us pinpoint the suspect that killed your son."

"I don't know where you received that evidence, but I assure you it is incorrect or has been misread."

"Your daughter said you knew about her abortion before she had told anyone else. She was also over a thousand miles from home at the time, making it nearly impossible for you to find out in any other method. Unless you have a psychic connection, in which case you might as well leave now, since I can't convict you for ESP."

"Katrina is an unreliable source no matter what you're talking about. I knew about the abortion because she'd let slip to her brother, who immediately informed me like the good boy he was."

"And yet she says she told no one."

"I assure you Jonathan knew."

"Well, it's too bad there's no way of contacting him to confirm that, isn't it?"

"Terrible." An explicitly horrible grin spread across the man's features, and the steel grey hair that had originally made him look dignified was suddenly giving him the look of a messenger of death. "But that is another one of his greatest assets. Jonathan serves me even in the afterlife."

"And you have no idea how he got to the afterlife, right?"

"Not a one." There is a short pause, and then the cold smile disappears. "I'm sorry I can't be very helpful, but if I knew I would certainly tell you. Losing Jonathan was a terrible burden on the Bates family."

Financially, of course. Elliot rolls his eyes, unable to take this man much longer without losing grip on his anger.

"I'll be right back." He says, sorry he has to finally give in and take a breather. But when he opens the door, he almost smiles to see her standing there, biting the edge of her thumb while she watches through the window.

"You're not going to say 'I told you so', are you?" He asks, his arms folding across his chest.

"When I tell you I want to ask him myself, I don't' mean I'm going to tell you the question and watch you badger him." She smiles anyway though, shrugging in forgiveness. "I am so sure that he knows everything, but I'm not so sure how to get it out of him. We haven't got anything on him, so we can't use a pressure tactic. And I think he could care less if we shoved one of his children off the Brooklyn Bridge, so I don't think there's any chance of using them as a threat. We really need a plan before we go in there again."

"I'll talk to Munch and see if he can dig up something on him. At any rate, I need to take a break from this guy before I break his neck."

"Always a smart decision." She smiles again, and he's glad she's here all of a sudden. It feels right, being together, tying the ends up on the case that started the relationship, knowing they weren't ending anything those nights had begun. Her smile is different today anyhow, full of her life force; it's more open, but somehow more exhausted, as though she grins out of sheer vulnerability.

"I'll be back." He squeezes her arm gently, and then steps past her, her body brushing slowly against his before parting. Everything about it is utterly meaningful, and he turns for one last moment to meet her eyes, seeing something sincere in them. All of her life's truths are in them today, and he drinks her with a glance, tasting all the sweat and honesty of their relationship like the sort of memories you have right before you sleep. Your dreams descend and you remember some lonesome truth that you know you'll never see in your mind's eye again, and then all fades to a figment of your fantastical reality.

Munch is not at his desk, but the phone on his own desk has begun to ring. Glancing across the squad room and seeing no one of more urgent need, he answers it, immediately regretting the decision the moment the voice responds to his greeting.

"Elliot? I'm sorry to call you at work…it's just…"

Jesus, Kathy. Not you. Not now.

"What?" His reply is short and unfeeling. He lacks the sympathy and the patience to hold back a snap.

"I really need to talk with you. Tonight."

"I have plans." He glances over his shoulder, looking for the partner in his now-settled sexual schedule.

"It won't take long. I just…we really have to talk about this."

"By 'this', I assume you mean the divorce."

She takes a long time to answer. "Yes."

"Look Kathy, now is not a good time. Do you think it can wait?"

"No, Elliot. It really can't."

"Okay. And where do you plan on talking about it?"

"You could come over here. Or I could come over there."

"My place is not…not _good_."

"Fine then. My apartment."

"How about we meet somewhere else? That restaurant the street over from your place…um…"

"Sulieman's."

"Yeah, that."

"Okay, let's do that. Is seven alright?"

"It's fine." He bites his lip. "I have to go."

"Right…" There is a long pause, as though she is hanging on to him a little longer, as though her fingers are still in his like that long walk on the beach where they decided to consecrate their marriage. He remembers the sun and the sand beneath his feet and happiness washes him with a gentle wave, but…

"Elliot." Olivia is standing over him, smiling apologetically when she realizes he is on the phone. "Sorry," She mouths, and leans against the cabinet behind her.

"Okay," He speaks into the receiver again, frown returning. "Goodbye then."

"Bye." She says quickly, and it is a race to hang up first, but he thinks he must have won.

Olivia strides toward him, long legs and perfect hips and all of her smelling like sunset. "Everything alright? You look like someone just arranged your funeral."

_Maybe they did_. "Yeah, I'm fine." He shrugs it off though, because here she and here he is and they are everything when they're this close.

"Find anything yet?"

He rolls his eyes playfully, leaning forward to miss her swiping hand. "You didn't even give me two minutes, Liv."

"Well, you've always had fast hands."

He takes it as a bit of innuendo, and returns it obediently. "You shouldn't talk. Your tongue is a bit on the fast side, too."

"And here I thought it moved at a perfectly fine rate." She sits down across from him, stretching herself out along the lines of the desk until she's staring at him with her eyebrow raised, perfect harmonic architecture from end to end. "At least you never seemed to protest before."

He grins, although he is looking at the computer screen. "It's hard to speak up when you're easily distracted."

She laughs quietly, trying to hide her amusement. "You think it's hard to speak up? Try giving compliments when your mouth is full."

"Could you two _please_ discuss this some other time?" Munch has suddenly appeared, eyebrows raised above the rim of his glasses. "Jesus, I hate it when people start bragging about how well they give head."

"Make you self-conscious, John?" Fin quips from across the room, his back to them until he pulls out a file. "Hey El, I got something for you."

"As long as it's not an arrogant rich bastard's calling card, then goodie."

"It might be his calling card to jail though."

Elliot raises an eyebrow, beckoning for the folder. "That sounds a little better."

"Looks like Bates didn't clean up his act as well as he thought. Police have still got records on a charge from a former employee that Bates fired her on unreasonable and unlawful terms."

"Any specifics?"

"Nope, but we've got her name and address, so you might want to hit that next. Maybe Bates isn't as straight-laced as we thought."

"You mean someone actually thought that at one time?" Elliot laughs, and turns to his partner. "Sound like a plan?"

She grins. "You're driving."

…


	37. Gone

**ah, vacation. breathe it in. doesn't that smell good? yes, it does. it smells like coffee and doughnuts and ice cream and FANFICTION. life has been one hell of a ride these past few weeks, aka emotional baggage plus academic overload, and therefore this story has developed like molasses. but fear not. for here is the newest part, the part over which much squealing may occur. **

**it is specially equipped with dramatic flair, tense angsty angst-angst, and an ending to knock your little socks off. all padded in a super sweet layer of general-OE-vibes. it is definitely not healthy for you and will definitely thicken your waistline this holiday season, which is why you should definitely read it.**

**mmmm, taste the fanfiction goodness.**

**P.S.**

**lionessLeo- **

**yeah, I'm a milf and a dweebwab doodyhead and I kinda forgot he (being Cragen-wagen) was close to death when I wrote that later chapter. my mind is not what it used to be- steel trap rusting and all of that nonesuch nonsense. so um…just pretend he recovered fast and speedily and with great healthy strides, but with much angst in continuing with the style of the story. haha angst, tastes like sunshine gone all bad.**

**whoa, I am seriously all eggnogged and champagned out right now. can't wait to see what this chapter turns out like…brelajslkadksdhskd!!!**

**oh yeah, and I am not a law bargaining expert, nor am I extremely skilled in such procedures seeing as I have yet to graduate from high school, so no quips on the bargain scene. just pretend that's what would really happen.**

…

He stands, slowly. Watching her across the glass is painful today, shit. She looks so…drained. And he wonders if it's his fault, if maybe something in the way they didn't touch, didn't glance, something in the way he didn't reach out and take her hand when he was supposed to, was the one thing that brought her here.

Everything is a responsibility now, obligation replaced by prescription, and he's addicted to her. She's a drug and he's following that high everywhere. Anywhere. How much would he give for that skin to survive; who would he kill to complete her curves? It's not a question he can ask without feeling immediate guilt.

He glances at the clock and realizes another woman is in need of him, for some reason he cannot fathom, by some choice he didn't want to make.

"Captain…"

Cragen turns, giving one half of the infamous duo a confused look. "Something up, Stabler?"

"I have an appointment that's just come up. Something with the kids, I think."

"You think you'll be back today?"

"I don't know." He bites his lip. "Probably not."

"Fine. Don't forget the rest of your paperwork for Thursday." He turns back to the window, watching the place where the Bates have convened, where Olivia sits still and sound with coffee-flavored speech summoning their attention.

Elliot gives her a final look, but he is invisible to her now, behind that great glass wall where shame is bared and riddles are spun and something very dark sometimes sits. He fears for her for a moment, seeing her sitting among all the filth and grime of past crimes and past hates. He wants to grab her for a moment, take her out into the air where the city lifts them, letting them soar until they melt into the atmosphere. He'd like to melt with her someday.

He steps toward the door, thinking about it.

…

She is starting to get sick of it when there is a miracle. A god damned miracle.

"It was the family's decision to go through with it, Miss Benson." Mr. Bates says quietly, giving her a small look, as though to reassure her of his sanity. "That's what you wanted to hear, wasn't it?"

She blinks. "Go through with what?"

"Killing Jonathan."

"You decided to kill your son?" No fucking way.

"Yes. It was necessary." His voice is calm, his features collected, the only thing out of place the smug coolness in his eyes.

She turns to the window where she knows her partner and captain must stand, mouthing for them to bring Katrina in. She assumes they have noticed and turns back to the Bates patriarch. Or perhaps better, the Godfather.

"And how did you kill him?"

"That I cannot disclose, of course." He smiles calmly at her, barely missing a beat. "You'll want to know about the weapons next, I assume. Once you have the final evidence, you'll convict me, won't you? But you need a confession. Well, I never killed him, and I never said I killed him, and therefore this is no confession."

"But you said--"

"I said the family decided to. I never said we went through with it."

"But you _did_ say you decided on killing him. And Jonathan's dead. So any fool can put two and two together to get the basic point, Mr. Bates."

"Fools are not often in court, Detective, so somehow I cannot feel worried one will be trying me and thus putting 'basic points' into play, as you call them."

"Well, at least you understand the capability of our ADA."

He shrugs, a cold smile appearing. "I understand you still don't have what you want."

"But you certainly love to dangle it in front of me like a big juicy steak, don't you?" She tries very hard not to jump across the table and knock him out with her fists.

"I'm not enjoying this, no. Sitting here as though I am a charged criminal is certainly little fun."

"Well, give me five minutes and you won't just feel like one."

"I'm sure I won't. My lawyer will arrange a bargain, I will give my confession, and we can be done with this." Beside him, his lawyer stirs into action, Casey following suit as she enters.

"Well, that was surprisingly easy." The redhead sits across from the balding but regal head of the Bates family, her eyes falling onto his lawyer, grinning triumphantly in his thousand dollar suit. "So what kind of offer are you expecting me to agree to?"

"15 years tops, set the bail at 3 thousand."

"You're kidding." She raises an eyebrow. "I have better things to do today, Mr. Allen, and your client is not one of my top priorities. Make me a realistic offer and maybe I'll think about the deal."

"15 years, raise the bail."

She gives him a warning look, glaring impatiently. "Rich man sentences don't go over very well with me or the court. And I don't really think you're in the position for that kind of bargaining as is."

"My client is going to confess to contriving the murder of his son. What better bargaining piece should I be looking for?"

"Contriving is not actually _killing_, is it? Murderers and weapons have always been better bits on the table in my opinion."

Olivia glances at the window, wondering if Katrina Bates is here to hear this, wondering if the truth is breaking her as fast as it's uplifting Olivia.

A pounding on the door says yes.

Olivia motions for her to enter. And the storm breaks.

"_How could you_?" Katrina screams, and part of her must be breaking somewhere inside, because her voice almost bleeds. "How could you kill _Jonathan_?" She weeps too, tears free flowing and desperate and almost pitiful. "He was…he was the only good one, how could you _kill _him?"

"He would have understood." The man is still and calm, his body not even tensing under the scrutiny of screams his daughter cries out before him. Yet in his eyes there is a sort of acceptance, as though he has been preparing for this moment and does not mind performing accordingly. "Jonathan believed in the purpose of the family, the honor. He would have understood why it had to be done."

"_Nothing_ justifies killing him!" She throws herself onto the table; hands reach to pull her back and two cops are pulling on her, her hair flipping forward, her chest heaving dramatically. Her face is wet and red, and yet her eyes scream for vengeance. "I don't know why I tried to win you back! I don't know why I ever believed you would accept me!"

"You were not your brother."

"That's right. _I'm_ still alive, aren't I?" She spits onto his cheek, and there is a silence. She seems to collapse, and then is pulled away, giving in to the will of her captors, her eyes still remaining on the man who spawned her, the demon of her childhood, of her adulthood, of her long and horrid life.

Mr. Bates turns to her when his daughter is removed, when the door finally shuts and silence secures them.

"I arranged for the murder of my son, and I have the names of the ones I hired."

And it is done.

…

He steps into the restaurant and his eyes have to adjust to the low lights, the hostess barely visible when she draws near to him.

"I'm meeting someone." He says quickly, and he sees her suddenly in the back of the room, candle illuminating her features, sharpened and then softened by the flickering glow.

He makes his way through couples and hands that are joined across the table, warm glances from one partner to another. He can't stand it, and yet he can, because something about her justifies it. He has shared enough years with this woman to look back tenderly on most of it. Children and kisses and long afternoons and busy nights… he's not supposed to just forget it, right?

But he can't have this and have Olivia at the same time. It doesn't seem plausible. So he has to shove the old memories aside in place of a more sensible emotion, and he's impassive when he takes his seat across from her, almost frowning at the look in her eyes.

"I didn't know if you'd come…" She says tentatively, eyeing him strangely, as though she is afraid he will suddenly take off again. As though she needs to convince him that she means well.

He can't tell. It is frustrating, and it bothers him, and jesus, he shouldn't be here.

"Traffic." He says gruffly, taking the menu into his hands and not sure what to do with it. Order? Get a drink? How long is this going to take?

"Did you take the Ford here? It…um…it's been stalling lately."

"Yeah, I noticed." They're still sharing the one car, since he needs the other for work and she can't get another for a while. He didn't agree to that. "It always was a shitty car."

"That's why I told you not to buy it, remember?" She smiles slightly, still staring at him even as he avoids her eye. "But you said you didn't want a Jetta because German cars were…what did you say again?"

"Bad reliability."

"That's not what you said, though."

He remembers, and it is a bit warmer in here. "I think I called it a Nazi car."

She laughs lightly, though there is something guarded in her tone, in her small smile. He doesn't care, because he doesn't want to see what she's feeling now; he's afraid of it, really. "You were always harsh about foreign cars."

"There was nothing wrong with that Chevy I had for nine years. And yet the old Volvo lasted us two months."

"You had that Chevy in high school. Everyone's biased toward their high school car." And there is something in her voice, and he knows she wants a good reply this time.

"Yeah." And there is nothing more to say, because he knows it was also the car they had sex in for the first time, the car she left her gum wrappers in and hid her father's beer in for the weekends. There is nothing more to say on the topic of that car.

She detects the noticeable pause in his conversation and turns the discussion to something else. "Dickie got the science award in his class."

"When?"

"Last week. There's a ceremony next Thursday night, if you can make it."

He hides a wide grin, thinking about the twins, thinking about the futures they were carving. Someday they'd be somewhere above him, and he'd have to look up to see them walking in the sky, dreams all around them. Their mother is seated across from him, and she notes the smile.

"They're amazing, aren't they? I mean, if I'd known back then what they'd be now…"

"Back when?"

"Back when we were…um…when things were normal. I just feel like I didn't…didn't give them enough time, you know?" She tries for a sympathetic smile, but he ignores it.

He wonders what she means by normal. He suddenly realizes she regrets the separation, and he is speechless.

She tries to continue. "Have you talked to the girls lately?" She gives it no subtle intendment. He is thankful.

He nods slowly. They are a product of this union, too. "Last Monday. Kathleen's coming over for dinner this weekend."

"Tell her to stop in."

He orders a drink, but Kathy asks for wine. He is left awkwardly sipping his now when Kathy finally gets to the point. And he is speechless again.

"It was a mistake, Elliot." She says it slowly, and he can't be sure at first if it really is all coming out, if she is really saying what he dreads to hear. "We jumped at it too soon; we hardly even talked about it. And now I…I feel like we're worse than where we were before."

"It has to be…_different_ at first." He says quietly, staring at his glass of wine. "It's not supposed to feel perfect."

"But is it supposed to feel this _wrong_?" Her face is caught in the flame for a moment, reflections of light casting unfamiliar shadows on her face. He finally meets her eyes and recognizes the once mysterious expression as desperation. He is surprised, because he has never seen Kathy past her limits before. And past them she certainly is. "I don't want the divorce. I don't want the separation. I want…I want everything back to normal."

He grits his teeth, biting his lip at the same time. "Taking it back to the way it used to be isn't going to make anything better."

"You don't know that."

"You're making it sound like there was no reason for separating in the first place."

"Maybe…maybe there wasn't. We have tempers, Elliot. We always have. But we get over fights and we get over problems and…it just seems we didn't spend enough time working this out."

He pities her for a moment, pities her for this pit into which she has crawled, seeing the dirt under her fingernails and clouding her eyes where she has tried again and again to climb out. Yet he can't turn around, not even for her sake, not even for four children and so many years and kisses under the stars and sleeping in the same bed and holding hands and sharing meals and looking into those eyes and seeing your own reflection fully realized.

"I can't go back, Kathy."

"You don't feel…"

He shakes his head, watching the light drain from her eyes as she stares breathlessly at him.

"I'm an idiot." She stands up, shoving her chair in with a resolute shove, striding away from the table.

"Kathy!" He has to stand up and go after her. Years of union require it.

He catches her at the door, grabbing her arm and pulling her away from the street where her car must be waiting.

"Kathy, you have to understand--"

"No, I do." Her voice is not cold or angry, but it is dark and unwilling to go on. She's really on her last leg. He has brought her there. He feels it and sees it and he knows he owes her this. Yet she continues and he cannot stop her. Perhaps this is how he will repay her. "I know you're in another relationship, I know you're involved. I'm not asking you to give it up, I wouldn't do that."

"It's…it's serious, Kathy. And she…she isn't the sort of person that…it hasn't been easy either." He can't continue, really.

"Oh jesus, Elliot, it's not like I don't know who it is! I talk to our daughters you know, and they're rather acute." She's exasperated and perhaps irritated, but she's not angry. "Olivia's…she's…I've known her for a long time. I trust her. I just didn't really expect--"

"I don't really _care_." He snaps. It was coming. "Do you think I'd leave her, Kathy? After everything we've been through--"

Her eyes flare red. "Right, because four healthy children don't matter against one miscarriage--"

He slaps her. He can't believe he's done it but by the time it is over the silence is welcome. He is breathing heavily, his hand still erect and outstretched before him, she still and amazed, her fingers pressed to her cheek as she stares in shock.

And then she begins to cry.

It is the kind of crying which shakes a body, which stirs a body, which brings it down so that its knees must collide with the earth. He has to catch her before she falls, and yet she holds herself up, not letting such a kind of weeping destroy her.

"I'm sorry," She says quickly, before the tears can stop her. "That was uncalled for… I had no right--"

"It's fine." It isn't entirely, but he knows she no longer means everything she says. Impulse outweighs intensity in her dying mind.

"No, I really am. It wasn't right. I just…" She takes a deep breath, standing alone now. "It's been hard lately, Elliot. I'm trying to figure out what it's supposed to be like, but nothing seems right anymore. You have problems in a marriage so you end it, and you think everything turns out fine. But…it takes a while, right? You don't feel better…you just hurt."

"We can't go back, Kathy. It doesn't work like that."

"But you hurt sometimes, don't you? You miss it sometimes. You must."

He shrugs. "I don't know…"

"Please don't tell me all those years were a waste."

"No, they weren't a waste." He takes her hand, holding it between his own. "We have four beautiful children, and we have lots of memories. That's what you should take with you."

"When everything else is bad, I have to fall back on that. And then I want that. And then none of it seems worth it." She stares at the ground, the end of her thumb in her teeth. "You don't know what it feels like to be…worthless."

"You shouldn't tell yourself that. You're not."

"It doesn't matter." She glances over her shoulder, and then at her watch. "I have to get home and start dinner. I, um…I'm sorry I dragged you out here for this."

"It's fine." It really isn't, but he can't argue now. "You can…we, uh…if you need to talk again, we can."

"Oh." She stares at him, and something opens in her. "Thanks, I…I guess I'll go now."

And she's gone.

…

She arrives at his house and she nearly collapses on the sofa, everything a rush of blood to the head and everything something she has to feel. Why can't it all pass over her? Why can't they leave her behind for a while?

The door opens a few minutes later, just as she is dozing off, and he walks in, a strange expression on his face.

"Where were you this afternoon?"

"Appointment." He says roughly, setting down some groceries on the counter. His keys jangle and then are silenced against the stone of the table, cold as his eyes for a moment.

"Oh." She glances over at his back, removing his jacket, strong shoulders flexing and rippling under a familiar shirt. "You probably heard about the case."

"The Bates case?"

"Yeah, it's over."

"Really?"

She frowns at the lack of excitement in his voice. She had expected a cry of joy, a jump, a wide grin, a bottle of champagne, a _something_. "Yeah, Jonathan's father killed him. He gave us a full confession, and the names of the people he hired. Everything, just for a high bail."

"I'm not surprised."

"You're kidding." She raises an eyebrow. Where is her Elliot in this complicated figure, this stranger in her lover's clothes who wanders like a waif across her kitchen, barely glancing up without something moving strangely across his features, like a shadow over his emotions. "Why didn't you suggest it before?"

"Didn't come to mind." He shrugs, taking the seat across from her and slumping slightly. She lowers her jaw, glaring impatiently at him.

"_Didn't come to mind_? Since when have you been this nonchalant about casework?"

"Since we hit something this hard, now calm down." His voice rises slightly and she is taken aback, almost insulted by his attitude. Why is he so cold?

"I'm not angry." She says defensively, sitting up where she has strewn herself across the couch. "I was just surprised you hadn't mentioned it before. It doesn't matter now, though. The whole thing is closed, thank god." She stands up, attempting to lighten the mood with a smile in his direction. "How about a glass of champagne to celebrate? And if that doesn't work, there's some vodka in the cabinet under the--"

"No, that's fine."

She sinks back onto the couch, defeated. "Oh, alright." She stares at him, trying to fix herself in his mind, trying to find him where he is lost among his own questions, or whatever it is he now wanders among. "Are you feeling okay?"

"I'm fine. I'm just…probably coming down with something."

"Was it a doctor's appointment?"

"Was what?"

"Your appointment this afternoon. Was it a doctor's appointment? You should see one if you're coming down with something, if only to spare me."

"No, it wasn't."

"What was it then?" Suspicion overrides sensibility, and she can't help it anymore. His coldness points her past simple relief, and she wants to dig under the skin all of a sudden, possessed by innate curiosity and the need to warm him again.

He pauses before responding, and it's noticeable only to her, who is so used to his patterns of speech already.

"I had to meet with some people about the finances on the house."

She can buy it. She wants to buy it. She wants so desperately to buy it. And yet something else eats at her and she has lost that trust, and it hurts.

"That sounds exciting." She's as sarcastic as she can be, but humor is failing right now.

"Well, it was." He turns on the television. She has never been replaced by the television before.

She leaves him now, as it is the only things she can do before losing it. She takes his jacket off of the chair in the kitchen, bringing it down the hall to the closet, ready to hang it up. His bedroom is dark but for the flashing red light of the answering machine, beckoning to her suddenly. She goes to it and presses the button, and nearly falls onto the bed when the first voice pierces the silence.

"Elliot, it's me. Kathy. I just had to…I'm trying to call you, just to talk. After what happened this afternoon, I know I need to figure things out, but I can't do it alone. I know you can help me. I really need you right now, Elliot. I need you a lot. You know I'm not one to beg, but after this afternoon you have to see how desperate I am. Please Elliot. Don't leave me like this. I really need someone right now, and you've always been that person. You still are. I…I'll see you soon."

The cold beep of a machine.

And then silence.

She leans back, falls back, disappears into the bedspread. She would cry, or scream. She would throw herself out the window if she could. Yet something holds her in its arms, nearly crushing her under the weight of betrayal.

He lied. He lied. He lied.

And she needs him. Not Olivia. Kathy. Kathy needs him. Wants him. He said he'd help her. They're figuring things out. Figuring what out? It didn't sound like divorce papers. Why hadn't he told her? And somehow…somehow he could lie about it, and treat her like that. When all along she hadn't realized…he wasn't going to stay now, was he?

It had gone too far. It was going too far. She had to stop.

She loved him, yes. But he didn't love her. Couldn't love her. It was all wrong. God, why was it so wrong?

All of a sudden she knew what she had to do. All of a sudden it had hit her and it fit into place and horrible as it was, she had to. Why should she stay and complicate things? He was heading back to Kathy, he was lying to her, he was ignoring her. Why hadn't she seen it before?

It was over. It killed her. But it was over.

…

He stirred in the chair, sunlight causing him to blink as he looked over the television set and into the sun.

Shit.

He sat up, knowing he was late, knowing it had to be after eight. The clock confirmed it was after eleven. How the hell had he slept that late, and in a chair no less?

He'd been exhausted. Who wouldn't be? But why hadn't she woken him up when it was time to go?

Liv. Her name was dry on his tongue.

"Liv!" He called for her, and yet no response. Her keys weren't on the counter, and when he started looking around the room, her things were gone as well. He went to his drawers, impulse setting in like a hellish nightmare. Everything was gone. She'd taken everything she owned, leaving only his lonely things.

He got to his car, he dialed his cell, he bit his lip.

"We're sorry, but this phone is no longer in service."

_No._

_Not this._

Her apartment. He drove all the way to her building, his breath already rushed, his heart already pounding. She had to be here. This was insane. She couldn't have…just…left…no.

He buzzed, but no answer. Fuck it, he had a key. Staircases zooming. Harsh breaths, heavy sounds. And then…

Empty.

No.

No.

No.

It couldn't.

It hadn't.

But he had.

And she had.

So she left.

Hell was his home now. And the house he returned to was cold and unfriendly and marred by decisions he hated making.

She must have left something. Anything. Yet his own house seemed bare.

The light flashed noiselessly on the answering machine. He stepped tentatively towards it, lightly touching the button as though it would hurt him.

_Elliot. It's me._

_I'm sorry, Elliot. Some things…some things are heavier than others. I…I got the message from Kathy. I understand now where you were yesterday. I'm not…I'm not really angry, Elliot. I'm just…sad. _

_I need a break from this for a while. I think you do too. I don't think…I don't…I don't know where I'm going. I've already talked to Cragen._

_Maybe it's the job. I don't know…_

_I didn't want to give up on you, Elliot. I didn't want to leave you. But it feels like I didn't have a choice in the matter. If you want your old life back, I give it to you now willingly. I want to see you happy, and if that's what it takes, then I want you to have it. Please don't be sad on my account._

_I don't know if I'm coming back. Please don't count on me._

_I'm sorry. I really…I really love you. But…_

_Things are different now, and I finally understand that. I used to think we couldn't go back to the past, but I have figured out that if you want it badly enough, anything's possible. If you want that life again, take it. I can't go back. I can only go forward now. So that's what I'm doing._

_Goodbye Elliot. I…you…thank you._

So it was gone. She was gone.

He cried.

And somewhere, a curtain closed.


	38. Epilogue

**I could call this a bonus chapter, but in fact it's the epilogue. and you know what an epilogue means. sad as I am to say it, this is the final chapter of What If. **

**well my darling readers, we've come a long ways since that first installment, haven't we? I mean, the show has definitely gotten a lot more drama-ish. (karma from the story, yes) and there has definitely been a lot more OEness in the show lately. (karma again, definitely.) but let's face it, my writing's improved and my concept of love has definitely matured quite a bit, and I don't think I would be where I am today as a writer if not for this story. this story has become my cheap whore, my jail cell, and my little love child, and if not for all the comments from my readers, I don't think it would have ever gotten this far. thank you all so much for enduring my bitch rants and author's notes and procrastination. it was kinda worth it, right?**

**I'm going to miss this little story a lot. a hell of a lot. like seriously, what am I going to do with myself now that What If is finished? well, maybe I can actually do my homework…nah, never mind. I'm going to miss all my readers most of all, for being very lovely and making me feel lovely and just spreading the loveliness everywhere. I don't think there's going to ever be a sequel to this story, but I will never stop writing the fanfic. especially the OE fanfic. because the OE fanfic is the major sex.**

**my last author's note for What If. wow. who'd have ever thought we'd get this far, huh? and all before I get my license, too. I guess I'm just pleased that I'm still 16 and I've actually finished one of the stories I've been working on. most teenagers finish absolutely nothing. which used to be me. but not anymore, wow. wow wow wow. procrastination no more.**

**I love you all and I thank you all. I'll be seeing you all soon. but I'll be missing this story, too.**

**-Kate**

…

_4 years later_

It was foggy in the city, streetlights bursting like diamonds and then fading into a bleak grey, sporadically disturbed by the distorted flash of headlights and then visual silence once more. The clouds had descended on Chicago as if to hide the city's shame, cloaking it in cool sanctuary until its wounds had healed. But a city's wounds were always open, scratched back to bleed time and time again by the roar of fate's tide.

He watched through towering windows as the fog rolled silently across the runway, dark and cold.

New Year's Day in an airport. Women in stilettos and party dresses they haven't removed for over 12 hours are trudging wearily by, mascara smudged as they pull on their Marc Jacobs totes and Louis Vuitton luggage. Men in tuxes and ruffled business suits attempt to forget their hangovers and hover in pasty circles at the Starbucks, downing black coffee and looking sick. Children exhausted from their holiday vacations are being dragged across the tile floor by impatient parents, new presents and toys in tow. Everyone looks thoroughly drained, thoroughly rushed, and thoroughly insane.

His plane has been delayed for another hour, and he's run out of leftover copies of The New York Post, and he is so absolutely bored right now that he thinks he might actually go buy a People magazine and later hide in his shame.

He's supposed to be flying home after visiting Maureen at the University of Chicago, but the weather hates him today. The terminal is busy as hell and it's too loud to think or nap, so he reconsiders the cheap magazine. People are constantly moving in and out of the lines of chairs in which he is settled, especially the families complaining loudly to one another about long waits and impending in-laws. On his left, a few teenagers have escaped the eyes of their parents to convene on the cushions, exchanging headphones and head banging appropriately. On his other side, a couple is just leaving arm in arm, and he watches them lean in toward one another for a moment, silent laughter and a range of unspoken conversation drifting between their eyes.

He hasn't really been the same since she left. Half of him is gone, and it's hard to admit. But he can no longer deny the significance of her absence when long after midnight he is still awake, and the pillow beside him is empty. Many an evening he's watched the moon rise and fall outside his window, and laid a hand across the other side of the bed, nearly starting when he does not find a warm body there to meet him. Even after four years, she is impossible to leave behind.

It's not as though he didn't try to find her. But phonebooks and tickets and long and trying walks later, he knows she's not in the city. She didn't even tell Cragen where she was going, just mentioned something about the job getting to be too much, wrote an apology, and left a badge on his desk. That strange expression when he'd walked in the next day, the way the Captain had studied him with an unfamiliar gaze, Elliot never really understanding what he'd been looking for. Guilt, remorse, maybe even satisfaction? But no, you couldn't expect emotion out of Elliot Stabler. She had taken that with her, hadn't she?

Just a few months ago, he'd come across a cardboard box in the back of his closet. It was full of the clothes she'd forgotten to get from the laundry when she'd left; a few shirts, a pair of jeans…a post-it note she'd left in her pocket. It'd been through the wash, but he could still read her familiar script, the words softened almost by the transformation but still clearly a grocery list. He knelt for a few moments before the box, his new altar, and smelled everything separately, immediately recognizing that distinct scent of hers past the cheap detergent. He'd almost cried just at the mere effort of putting it all away.

Four years…and you don't get over that sort of thing. She lingers everywhere to him, the one thing he can't hide from.

He lies to himself when he says he's fine. He comes home from work and he sits alone, and not even the calls from the kids can bring him back. Back from that place he goes when he drifts off into the silence. And she is there in the silence, whispering softly about why he can't leave yet.

A voice over the speaker system brings him back to the present, but it isn't his flight they're announcing, just canceling another one. He sighs and leans back in his chair, wondering how many more hours he has to spend in this little plastic prison.

And then something catches his eye across the room.

And he has one of those moments, where everything seems to make sense.

A little boy, maybe three or four, is staring back at him, smiling slightly, dark hair falling over mocha eyes and curling slightly where it reaches his tiny ears. He reminds him a little of Dickie when he was that age, the same sort of posture and complexion, that same expressive mouth. But his eyes are entirely different, deep and chocolate and shining even from so far away. There is something about him that brings Elliot backwards and forwards at the same time, one of those moments where you just know. You absolutely _know_.

And then the redheaded woman beside him takes his hand and leads him from the chair, smiling amiably at her little companion. Elliot lets out another sigh, the moment fading.

The boy turns and gives him a small wave, his smile widening before it disappears. The woman is bringing him toward the escalator, and yet the boy keeps looking at him, his expression small and meaningful.

Elliot is left motionless in his chair, that moment lingering in the back of his mind. Lingering like her.

And he stands, and goes after them.

He passes the weary eyes, the coffee-induced energy, the colors of the early morning and the late night. He nearly knocks over a few people on the escalator, still watching for the back of the little red sweater, the tan coat of the woman who was leading him. He'd never seen them before. But he had to know _somehow_, he had to understand what had passed between them for that one pulsating moment.

He caught them at the top of the next flight of stairs, and there they were. Standing in front of an emptying terminal; people are passing by and meeting their relatives, hugs and kisses commencing in every direction. Elliot is frozen between the throngs of movement, waiting to see what is going to happen. He is only a few feet from them, but he cannot speak. He can't even reach out to touch them. He just has to wait.

"Meredith," The boy turns to the woman holding his hand, tugging quickly on her pant leg. "Meredith, where's my mommy?"

"Hang on, buddy." The woman kneels down to meet his eyes, smiling reassuringly. "She'll be off the plane in a second, okay?"

"Can I show her my picture? The one I drew of her and me in the garden? The one with the orange cat?"

"Of course you can." She touches his nose with her finger, laughing when he squeals softly.

Elliot looks over the kneeling woman. And he sees her. _Her._

He knows.

She has a bag slung over her shoulder, and her hair is a bit longer, pulled back behind her head and giving her an elegant look. She is almost the same as when he last saw her, except for the expression in her eyes, warmer and yet colder at the same time, as though something in her heart has fallen away and only been recently replaced by a new and tender patch. _Our scars are the same._

Their eyes meet, and she nearly drops the bag in response. He finds himself grinning besides the odds, but then the woman named Meredith stands up and blocks his view, the little boy pulling out of her grip and running to her.

"Aidan!" He hears her voice, the same voice that comes to his dreams sometimes and tells him to be strong.

"Mommy, you're home!" He squeals, and Meredith is stepping forward, offering her a hand with her bags. And then _she_ steps past her, and the boy is in her arms, and he_ knows_.

Her expression is hard to pinpoint, a cross between shock and disbelief. He doesn't know if she finds this a good thing or not, but he is still smiling, still trying not to cry out in joy and envelope her in his arms.

"You…" She says softly, and the boy has fallen silent, staring at him with large eyes identical to her own.

"Hi Liv," He nearly chokes on the words, and he hasn't said that name in years, and he realizes now why it has hurt so much before.

"How did you…"

"I'm waiting for a flight." He shrugs, and he knows there must be tears now at the edges of his eyes. "And I saw him…" He nods at Aidan, who is reaching out a chubby hand to grasp at his jacket, smiling innocently.

"Oh," She sniffs for a moment, and he sees she is crying, choked by the moment. "This is Aidan."

"Hi," Aidan says quietly, waving his little hand in response.

"Hi Aidan," He is now choking as well, something in him filling up for the very first time, souls reconnecting and then repairing instantly.

"And this is Meredith Jordan, my neighbor and friend," She says quickly, as though any slower and she'll burst into tears. "Meredith watches for me Aidan when I'm working."

"I'm Elliot." He extends a hand, and she takes it, her eyes growing wide with understanding.

"Oh wow," She says quietly, "I, uh…I thought I recognized you from your picture."

"I see." He turns back to Olivia. He is complete. And she is beaming with something he has never seen before. "So you live here now?"

"Chicago, yes. I'm a...a human resource counselor, actually."

"That sounds perfect for you."

"Um, it is, actually." She motions to the chairs across from them. "Do you want to sit down?" She is wiping her eyes again, her voice breaking a bit.

"I'll go get some coffees." Meredith says quickly, smiling knowingly at them before disappearing to what Elliot guesses will be the longest line she can find.

Aidan crawls onto Elliot's lap, falling back against him and snuggling in. Olivia stares at them silently, her eyes shining and her hand covering part of her mouth in awe.

"So Liv…" He feels Aidan's hands on his wrists, seeing the chubby fingers wrapping around his own. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"About…him?" She nods at Aidan, who is now looking up at her with wide and satisfied eyes. "I don't know. I…I was going to, eventually. I didn't really know how. I got to Chicago and I didn't realize I was pregnant until I'd been here for about two months. Everything was so strange and upside-down and…I didn't know what I was supposed to say."

"I would have been here in a second, Liv."

"I know." She says quietly, and their eyes meet once more. "God, I missed you." She throws her arms around him, and the weeping begins, and he knows he is home, finally. United with her, their son in his arms.

"I'm not going to leave again." She says as she pulls away, her eyes red and full of relief.

"I'm not going to let you leave." He smiles, kissing her right there, feeling the warmth rush through him like a beautiful fire, the missing piece complete.

"I've got the coffee!" Meredith returns, hiding a laugh as she produces the Starbucks cups. They pull away, blushing a bit and taking their drinks. "Yet I don't think you're very thirsty…"

"Thanks, Meredith." Elliot says sincerely, taking a long sip. "So, do you want to get something to eat?"

"I think we'd love that." She smiles at him, warming him once more.

They get to their feet, and he pulls Aidan onto his shoulders, the boy squealing with pleasure. As he takes her hand in his, something connects, and they are there, all at once…a family.


End file.
